


Reparations

by Maunakea



Series: Split Infinity [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken G1 Prime getting attention he DOES NOT WANT, Forced care, Harassment of well-meaning IDW Megatron, IDW Prime being suspicious, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lost Light shenanigans, M/M, Triggery Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5722678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maunakea/pseuds/Maunakea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>IDW Megatron and G1 Megatron meet due to Lost Light shenanigans. G1 Megatron shares home movies of his new slave. IDW Megatron is Not Amused and decides to do something about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To The Rescue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [救赎](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13744197) by [gattoindex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gattoindex/pseuds/gattoindex)



> I wrote this after reading the IDW holiday special, the MTMTE short story that has IDW Megatron curled up in a ball _completely traumatized_ after an entirely innocent little hug from what appeared to be a drunken Ultra Magnus.
> 
> I found his reaction fascinating (how does a four million year old mech manage to never get even one hug in his entire lifetime?) and wanted to explore how he would react if he had to respond to something more traumatic then a little hug while trying to stay within his IDW cannon personality and frame. Let me know how badly I mangled him in the comments, I love feedback!
> 
> Warning: Graphic past descriptions of non-con sticky/rape and violence. Triggery content ahead, please consider yourself warned! 
> 
> Cycle = 12 hours  
> Joor = 1 hour  
> Breem = 8.3 minutes  
> Astro-second = 1 minute

"Of course we succeeded! Megatron **himself** stood beside you! Victory against the sub-dimensional demonic horde was assured!"

The silver mech stood proudly in the Lost Light’s engine room with his hands on his hips, his ridiculously massive cannon jutting out from his wrist connector, the classic image of a blustering and pompous tyrant.

 _Please, enough with the grandiose third person proclamations,_ Megatron groaned to himself.

It was almost as annoying as his alternate’s insistence on taking all the credit for saving their universes. His penchant for dramatic poses and randomly knocking around his own subordinates wasn’t helping either.

Megatron found himself pinching at his dorsal ridge in irritation for the thousandth time since this encounter began. Ultra Magnus noticed and flicked him a side glance, subtly inclining his helm in shared exasperation.

This encounter needed to end, and soon.

“I return to Iacon, my capital city,” The tyrant called out as the last of his soldiers walked through the glowing portal back to their universe. The writhing aperture was far too close to the Lost Light’s engines for comfort. He was stalling; snatching at the last few opportunities to goad the hostile Autobots clustered protectively around the quantum engines.

Alternate dimension Megatron (from Universe G1 as so named by Brainstorm) was enjoying their reactions immensely. “The crown jewel of my empire,” he continued in his raspy, booming voice, “Now that the Autobots have been defeated and crushed beneath my heel.”

Megatron groaned quietly again as the tyrant showed every sign of continuing his inflammatory departing speech. The self-aggrandizing commentary had flowed endlessly all throughout the improbable situation the crew of the Lost Light had found themselves in.

All credit for the current disaster could be laid at the pedes of Brainstorm and Perceptor this time. Their little cooperative jaunt into trans-parallel-dimension portal technology had triggered the demonic invasion of both universes, binding them together at a critical juncture: the Lost Light’s quantum engines and alternate Megatron’s private Command Center washroom.

First contact between dimensions had been most… awkward.

After an initial rocky start, they had no choice but to join forces with the silver tyrant due to the severity of the situation. Between the two Megatrons and some enthusiastic aft-kickery provided by the Autobots of the Lost Light, the imperiled universes were saved in under three joors.

A new record!

Now the challenge was getting alternate Megatron back through the portal with minimum shots fired.

“-thrown into the nearest scrap heap like the second-rate machinery they were-”

From the grinding sounds of clenched denta around him, Megatron could tell it was going to be a near thing. He was getting desperately low on his already questionable supply of patience, but Rodimus lost his breems ago. The flashy mech leaned forward aggressively and opened his mouth to retort only to have Ultra Magnus step in the way.

Ultra Magnus pressed his thick servo over Rodimus’ intakes. “Don’t encourage him,” he practically begged. “He is leaving peacefully. We _want_ him to leave peacefully. You aren’t helping. Just _let it go_ for Primus sake.”

Rodimus scowled furiously past the huge servo clamped over his intakes.

It was well past time for both forces to part ways … now if only the strutting silver tyrant would _take the hint._

“Get _lost_ already you slag-sucking, tailpipe-huffing aft-licker!” … Whirl was doing his best to be subtle from where he remained hog-tied on the ground, still recovering from multi-dimensional demonic possession.

(The devious move by the demonic horde would have worked except the possessing spirit sincerely apologized for stepping on Ultra Magnus’ pede and Rodimus had shot the possessed Whirl point blank in the face plates .003 astro-seconds later.)

The tyrant merrily ignored Whirl’s furious tirade and continued to run his vocalizer, delighting in the hatred his every word inspired in the Autobots around him.

Megatron stood back with clenched fists, just wanting the other mech _gone._ He knew he would be receiving the brunt of the animosity his insufferable counterpart was working hard to generate. This little encounter had already set him back some of the goodwill he was building with the command staff.

“He’s worse than that vid of Galvatron on Cybertron,” Tailgate whispered to Cyclonus while watching the commotion with wide optics. Cyclonus considered the comparison while standing with one pede placed slightly in front of the smaller mech, his Great Sword drawn as he hovered protectively.

“I hate you,” Rodimus informed the tyrant after prying Magnus’ servo off his face plate. He refused to stay silent for yet another snide comment regarding dead, defeated Autobots.

The silver tyrant looked amused and his plating flared in wild glee.

_Flared?_

Megatron stared at the other mech and his expressive body. Another difference between the two universes. His own plating was rigid and didn’t move one iota off his frame.

“No, really,” Rodimus confirmed, “I absolutely _hate_ you. I hate you in ways impossible to fully explain. _Unquantifiable_ hatred. Just get the _frag_ out of here, you raving lunatic.”

Ultra Magnus coughed.

It sounded suspiciously like _transparalleldimensionalfactionwar! …_ and was aimed in Rodimus’ general direction.

The silver tyrant grinned back at Rodimus. “You have no idea.” He _finally_ turned back towards the shimmering portal behind him.

 _Thank Primus. Much more of this and they will be throwing **me** out an airlock,_ Megatron thought as he watched his counterpart start to leave. _Was I really this insufferable?_

Then alternate Megatron hesitated. He seemed to come to a decision and stepped back around. There was a devious smile on his face plates and every Autobot within viewing distance hunkered down and clenched their fists around their weapons.

“Something to remember me by,” the tyrant said, handing his peeved counterpart a small data disk.

“What… is it?” Megatron asked suspiciously.

“What could have been if you hadn’t lost your spinal strut to _them_ ,” alternate Megatron snapped, and then laughed.

It was a dark, ugly sound.

“Pathetic,” the silver tyrant muttered as he strode back towards the portal, waving his servo dismissively at the Autobots behind him. “Mind control of some sort. I would end you, but it is only a matter of time before you recover and repay the wretched Autobots for their treacherous-”

His vocalizer cut off as he crossed the boundary of the writhing trans-dimensional portal, returning to his parallel reality. Everyone ex-vented a sigh of relief when he fully disappeared and the portal began to collapse.

“Thank Primus,” Megatron muttered as the portal winked out. “I regret we share a designation.”

“Shares your _name_?” Rodimus snapped, still furious and choosing to take it out on his co-captain at the top of his vocalizer. “He _is_ you, everything _about you_ matches up, your massive ego, your pompous speeches, have you even _heard_ yourself talk-”

Megatron scowled, deeply offended as Rodimus continued to pile on the unflattering comparisons. He was about to retort when Rodimus launched forward mid-insult and tried to snatch the little disk from his servos.

Fast, but not fast enough.

The disk disappeared into Megatron’s subspace before Rodimus could get his flashy fingers around it.

Rodimus scowled in disappointment and reopened his mouth to continue his tirade, but Megatron merely turned away and chose to ignore him.

Behind him Whirl wiggled around in his bonds and then finally gave up, rolling himself down the corridor towards Swerve’s. The braver mechs in the hallway stepped over him while the rest got the frag out of his way.

Ultra Magnus cleared his vocalizer. “Perceptor,” he began his lecture, “the next time you decide to experiment with-”

“There won’t be a next time,” Perceptor interrupted him. “Not when I know _he_ is only a single miscalculation away.”

“Damn right,” Rodimus agreed. “In fact, I want that device of yours in the nearest blast furnace bin pronto.” That sorted, he turned back towards Megatron. “So about that disk-”

Megatron frowned and walked away before anyone he actually respected could ask him about it.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, in the privacy of his quarters, Megatron’s servos were shaking.

He had downloaded the contents of the disk after making sure there was nothing dangerous on it, but he was wholly unprepared for the data contained therein.

Hundreds of images and recordings of a captured and… _enslaved_ Optimus Prime.

It was a large collection of small recordings, all of them encounters with Prime in the privacy of his alternate’s spacious quarters, out on the street, and in his throne room. The initial recordings were of poor quality, crudely logged from the tyrant’s own internal displays.

Megatron had played them in his internal HUD, not trusting any of his external view monitors with the Lost Light’s questionable crew. There was a good chance someone may have bugged them.

Now he was grateful for his caution.

Ravage was currently recharging under his berth, and Megatron didn’t want to risk _anyone_ seeing these recordings, not even the loyal cassette. _I might not blame them for throwing me out an airlock,_ he realized as the dreadful recordings continued to play behind his optics.

Ravage continued to snore lightly and Megatron glanced at him warily, and then returned his attention to his internal playback.

Prime fought his captivity at first, and the first few recordings were brutal beatings. His alternate made good use of the small but stout shackles and shock collar. It was soon clear that Prime had no hope of defending himself. That part of the footage he could handle, though he felt for the subjected mech.

But the next recordings quickly tested and then broke his tolerance for depravity.

The rest of the footage contained attacks of a clearly _sexual_ nature. When the first real assault began to play it took him long, incredulous moments to even understand what his optics were processing.

Normal expressions of deep intimacy among Cybertronians (in his universe) was constrained to ritualized greetings and the ritual joining of mechs into a state of Conjunx Endura; a formal and enduring declaration of love. Such joined mechs might hold hands, spend inordinate amounts of time together, and sleep in the same berth, but _physical_ joining was mostly constrained to these subdued expressions. Such relationships were generally erudite and mostly inoffensive, though he had no use for such things in his own life.

Physical joining (beyond combining into a gestalt) was impossible and outside the realm of normal contemplation.

But these… recordings…

He received a crash course in alternate dimension Cybertronian interfacing equipment five minutes into the third recording, and he was horrified beyond words at the imagery. His alternate had rhythmically battered Prime, then finished by splattering pink fluid from the end of that… odd connector… all over Prime’s frame. The sounds completed the surrealistic scene; grunts of what could only be pleasure from his alternate and soft cries of pain from Prime.

The Prime from the recordings was strikingly similar to his Optimus Prime, perhaps a little less stout. The quiet dignity and determination when he tried to fight Megatron’s abuse was exactly the same. But it wasn’t long before the recordings showed a marked change in him, his burning anger giving way to constant anxiety and finally to naked fear.

Then the basic recordings came to an end, replaced by a more professional recording from what appeared to be some sort of ridiculously ornate throne room. Prime was chained to the floor before his alternate’s throne and was under assault by multiple large Decepticons while the tyrant enjoyed the show.

Megatron watched the spectacle in horrified amazement, having difficulty processing what he was witnessing. The resulting deprivations inflicted upon Prime lasted for far too long and they were beyond cruel. By the time the harrowing recording finished and the last few frames showed Prime’s barely conscious body being dragged from the throne room by his pedes, Megatron felt strangely numb.

He paused the recording and sank his helm into his hands. _I would not. I would never._ He felt strange, as if all emotion was completely wrung out of him except for a deep ache in his chest, and yet he realized his servos were shaking.

They were shaking and he couldn’t still them.

“What is wrong?” a voice near his pedes questioned him. Ravage could smell his quiet dismay, and padded up to him. The cat brushed his sleek frame against Megatron’s leg plating in concern.

“It’s nothing,” Megatron muttered. There was no way in the _pit_ he was showing the contents of this data disk to anyone, for any reason.

The mechanical panther sat down and cocked his muzzle to the side. “That mech wasn’t you,” the panther said, his guess only partially correct for what was bothering his former leader.

“I know,” Megatron said finally, willing to let the panther believe that was the source of his distress.

The cat watched him for a moment and Megatron returned his gaze evenly. The cat relaxed, satisfied he would be alright, and then padded out the door towards Swerve’s for his nightly bowl of fuel.

Megatron took several deep in-vents after Ravage left. Then he sat down on the berth, bracing his pedes on the ground. He vented until his spark calmed within him, and resumed watching the recordings.

They seemed endless.

The next few recordings gave him a name for the ports being repeatedly violated from recording to recording, and he found them utterly inexplicable, too reminiscent of organic systems. The sight of the ports disgusted him to the point of being completely squicked and the wildly enthusiastic brutality his counterpart inflicted with his … _spike_ upon Prime’s … _valve_ deeply disturbed him.

The violence and sexual violation steadily escalated in creativity and intensity as Prime’s captivity stretched from weeks to months. It was like a tram wreck in progress, a horror show he couldn’t look away from and every new recording drove him deeper into a state of intense anxiety.

Half way through the disk saw the recordings leave the realm of crudely logged horror and plunge off a cliff straight into full blown obscenity. The next section of recordings was noticeably choreographed, probably with the aid of a vid studio. In between professional-looking, crass recordings of his alternate creatively inflicting pain and pleasure using a variety of toys, were several longer productions involving multiple mechs, only some he recognized.

The recordings seared his mind.

But the worst of all was the professional photos near the end of the disk. It was those captured images that stayed with him, making his spark ache in a way he was unaccustomed. They showcased the two mechs in various poses as if they were lovers.

Some have them lying together, joined together in various ways while Megatron gently kissed Prime’s audial and other sensual parts of his frame. One photo had them kissing passionately, both mechs with optics closed, the lighting soft as if to capture a special moment. Sometimes Prime was shown making the intimate gestures.

The look in Prime’s optics was haunting.

Others showcased a sense of ownership, Prime wearing various collars, some frilly, the leash coiled around Megatron’s servos. Often he was posed as a pet at his alternate’s pedes. Some had him splayed out obscenely, that strange valve port spread either by his servos or Megatron’s. Close and detailed photos of Prime’s two interfacing ports, his alternate’s black servos appear in every one, demonstrating his ownership with grasping, controlling servos.

The last series of photos showcased pain: inflicted by toys, by the tyrant’s servos, by the spike jutting from his pelvic span. Prime’s intakes, his valve (which the tyrant seemed obsessed with) …every inch of his frame was violated and the attacks meticulously recorded for the best possible viewing angle.

Taken as a whole, each successive recording and photo was a downward spiral into deeper and deeper levels of obscenity; the delight on his alternate’s face plates throughout the recordings and photos clearly reflected the vile soullessness of the silver tyrant.

Megatron shut down the recording for the thousandth time and shuttered his optics. He stood up and paced back and forth, disturbed to his deepest places. Inevitably though he sat back down on the berth and restarted the recordings as there was a question he must have answered; was Prime already dead? Or was he still alive, suffering this horror even now?

Megatron needed to know.

Photo capture after photo capture, he looked at them all, and then the crude recordings began again near the end of the data disk.

The last few recordings were spark-rendingly awful, as Prime was clearly broken and yet the cruelty and indignities continued to rain down upon him. The last recording was dated for the previous day, and Prime was still alive at the end of it, although he no longer fought his tormentor and seemed bewildered at times by the brutality inflicted upon him.

 _He is still alive then,_ Megatron realized.

The plan had already formed in his mind over the last few joors. It had infiltrated his processor while he watched Prime suffer and now that he knew the other was still alive, he need only implement it.

First things first.

Ravage needed to be elsewhere for the duration. He couldn’t explain and he couldn’t have witnesses.

Not for this.

Megatron tapped open his comm line and was straightforward with Ravage. “I need my privacy for the next two days,” he informed the cassette. “It is important to me. If I find you have violated my trust-”

The cat just snorted at him and cut the comm line without a word.

That sorted, Megatron broke into the Lost Light’s internal security systems and made his preparations.

 

* * *

 

Megatron walked back into the Lost Light’s engine room with the trans-dimensional portal device he had rescued from the smelting furnace. It was now jury-rigged with a timer. He carefully linked it to the quantum engines and soon the device had adequate levels of power. It hummed obediently in his servos. Then he shuttered his optics for a moment, steadying himself, but he refused to let worry deter him. He hadn't built an army and led a war for millions of years by letting fear control him.

Then he activated the device.

Primus must be on his side today - whichever one was paying attention - for moments later he materialized safely in the parallel reality.

Megatron found himself outside of Iacon proper, with his counter ticking. He had only a short time before the device automatically pulled him back to his proper dimension. There would be only one chance at this. Traveling as quickly as possible, he headed towards the city, triggering a basic hologram disguise as he knew he would draw attention to himself otherwise. Attention he couldn’t afford.

Entering Iacon, he was startled by what he found as he headed towards the city’s heart. The entire city has been completely rebuilt using slave labor, and the Decepticon brand was displayed everywhere. He saw many, many small groups of enslaved Autobots working within the city. All of them had the same collars and shackles that Prime wore in the recordings.

All of them looked battered and abused.

 _So many enslaved,_ Megatron thought as fresh anger bubbled within him. Everywhere he looked he saw suffering and misery. This was exactly what he had fought against when he had started the Great War.

_My alternate has become what he fought… constructing a society every bit as vile as the one he toppled. Does this always happen? Is there no universe where I did not ultimately fail in bringing true peace and prosperity?_

Three joors left.

Megatron connected to the inter-hub for the region, quickly ascertaining his alternate’s residing location. His alternate was currently living in a penthouse suite on a top floor of the nicest building in Iacon, of course.

Arriving in record time, Megatron watched the towering building, taking stock of the situation. There seemed to be plenty of pede traffic in and out, and finally he just strode forward and walked through the entrance.

His holo-emitter disguise worked and no one seemed to notice him. Far more concerning was the chromo-timer slowly ticking down the seconds... he had only a little more than one joor left on his timer now. Still he didn’t hurry. He couldn't afford to make mistakes, not here. There would be no rescue for _him_ if he botched this. What his counterpart might do to him for this rescue attempt, he couldn't imagine, but he knew it would be every bit as horrible as what Prime was suffering now.

As if summoned by the thought, his vile counterpart arrived with a battered Optimus Prime in tow not a moment later. Megatron stepped back warily to see his other self again, but at the same time his spark flared with excitement … _my plan might actually work._

It was the first time he'd truly seen Prime beyond the pale recordings, and the reality was far harsher. Prime looked completely broken now. His helm was downcast and he tottered feebly after his owner. Megatron watched as the tyrant hauled on the leash he had attached to Prime, forcing Prime to a faster pace and dragging him into the building.

Megatron cautiously followed behind, careful not to look like he was following his over-confident alternate. Then he hesitated as they walked through a spark scanner and then entered the lift, and he decided to wait. He couldn’t afford to actually fight this hellish version of himself; he was badly weakened by the fool’s energon. His nonsense body wouldn’t last long in a real fight, and certainly not against his fully powered alternate self.

Thankfully his luck held. His counterpart reappeared on the main floor, striding out with a spring in his step, his every line speaking of dark satisfaction.

Megatron forced himself to wait until the other left, though patience was not his strong suit. His fists clenched anxiously as the monster took a few astro-seconds to chat with the attendant behind the service desk.

Half a joor left.

A few minutes later Megatron left the building, turned the corner, and stopped. He tapped at his wrist and quickly adjusted his holo-emitter. Moments later he reappeared with a new disguise, a perfect replica of his alternate self.

Knowing half the battle was not being noticed, Megatron forced himself to walk in like he owned the place. He tilted his helm slightly upward, mimicking his alternate's near-haughty air. Striding to the lift, he walked through the spark scanner without so much as a pause. He was relieved when it recognized him as he had assumed it would. It let him pass with an accepting ping, and he hit the top floor and headed down the hall.

Fortunately it was empty... though there was likely a good reason for that. _No one in their right processor would try this_ , he realized. Not with how damned _malicious_ his counterpart was.

A right proper maniac.

Megatron entered the expansive suite, looking around carefully. It was opulent, dripping with treasures and trophies, further showing the difference between himself and his alternate. He'd never had the desire for such things. Casting around, his nasal sensor wrinkled as he began to search for Prime. There was a smell in the room he couldn’t place, thick and tangy like copper.

He didn’t like it.

Fifteen astro-seconds left. He was cutting this close. After a quick search, he located Prime in the berth room, lying sprawled out on the floor against the wall.

Prime looked absolutely dreadful. Pale and weak, his paint was cracked and peeling and he was littered with petty injuries from head to pedes. He was badly dented and was covered in… Megatron winced, realizing the source of the odd smell. It was wafting up from Prime, up from the mess covering him and Megatron swallowed against his gag reflex. He didn’t have time to clean the mech up.

They needed to get out of this building _now_ , and into a clear area. He stepped forward and was relieved to see Prime wasn’t chained down beyond the ever-present collar and shackles.

10 astro-seconds left.

“You said I could recharge if I behaved,” the battered wreck whispered. It was dangerously close to a whimper. From the look of Prime’s lower plating and the pink fluid dribbling out of his intakes and splattered across his face plates, it was clear what he had traded for the luxury of sleeping battered and filthy on the ground.

“I lied then, didn’t I?” Megatron said, though he cringed inside as the words passed his lips. But he had no choice, not if he was going to pull off this rescue. _I need him to act convincingly if we are to escape._

Prime flinched and didn’t answer.

Megatron hesitated, and then picked up the collar. It would be needed to fool the guards downstairs. He leaned down and pulled Prime to his pedes as it was clear the mech could barely move. Attaching the leash with another mental cringe, he hustled Prime towards the door.

Prime wobbled on his pedes but somehow kept his balance. The lift ride was brief and then they were crossing the lobby.

A couple of mechs stopped and stared at the splattered mech trailing behind Megatron, then quickly went on about their business with tiny smiles on their face plates. Behind him, Prime forlornly rubbed at his face for a moment, well aware that mechs were gawking at his filthy body. He stumbled every few steps and struggled to keep up. Megatron couldn’t force himself to haul on the leash to hurry him along.

5 astro-seconds left and counting.

 _Almost there,_ Megatron thought with elation. Then behind him, Prime stumbled to his knees.

Megatron turned in a flash and grabbed Prime by the arm, acutely aware of the many optics now focused on him. He jerked for a moment when a flash of emotion flooded through him at the touch of the other mech, a potent mix of despair and misery buffeting him.

_What in the name of-_

He remembered himself an instant later and dragged Prime behind him, his grip seeming unkind, and strode towards the exit. His act was convincing and thankfully no one questioned him.

“Steady. Keep up,” Megatron murmured to the shaking mech as he pulled him along. He could still feel the emotions of the other, but they were weak now that he expected to feel them and he ignored the sensations. _Some sort of electromagnetic field generated by his spark and projected across his plating,_ he realized. _What a dreadful idea._

They moved quickly, getting around the corner to a sheltered area, and Megatron turned in a flash and covered Prime with a tarp.

Prime cringed at the sudden movement and threw his arms up defensively as the tarp settled over him, but otherwise didn't fight it. He muttered something, something about needing to be able to walk. His quiet protests were lost to the stifling tarp, now wrapped around him multiple times and secured so no part of him was visible.

Even through the quiet fear, Megatron felt Prime sag in relief when he was lifted off his trembling legs and unsteady pedes, then slung over a thickly-plated shoulder like a sack of bolts.

One astro-second and…

_Mark._

There was a welcome shimmer as reality faded and reformed into the comforting visage of the Lost Light’s engine room. The familiar thrum of the quantum engines was most pleasing to his audials.

One rescue, perfectly executed.

Megatron felt a surge of elated satisfaction. Across his shoulders, Prime shivered.


	2. Failure to Launch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Megatron realizes things aren’t going to be so simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I am blaming Hans Zimmer’s “Interstellar” soundtrack for the relentless tension in this chapter. Thank you so much for the comments, I love them! 
> 
> Warning: One-sided violence, Forced care, Unwanted touches from both parties. Angst ahoy!

 

Megatron’s back strut was tense with anxiety as he walked through the Lost Light towards his quarters. The tarp was a heavy load across his shoulder, the physical burden almost as heavy as the weight on his processor.

He was never more keenly aware of the risk he was taking. If the rest of the questionable members of the Lost Light’s crew realized he was sneaking through the ship while hauling a battered, shackled Prime over his shoulder… he wasn’t sure they would bother trying to get to the bottom of things before they shot him dead through the optics.

 _Ultra Magnus might_ , he considered while peering cautiously down the corridor leading to his quarters. All clear, thankfully.

_No, he certainly would._

Ultra Magnus was the only mech he respected as an equal on this ship. The former duly appointed enforcer of the Tyrest Accord would absolutely get to the bottom of things, and then Megatron would never live it down.

_Never._

Everyone would know what sort of sick, insane deviant his counterpart really was and he would have to live with the shame of that along with the constant, endless harassment from Rodimus that he'd crossed entire _dimensions_ of reality just to save _Prime_.

Megatron wasn’t sure which possibility would be worse… and so he was relieved that everyone was still going to the trouble to avoid him in the corridors, doubly so after the encounter with his alternate.

Prime was still shivering.

Megatron could feel the little trembles through the tarp as he walked, but otherwise his trussed up guest didn’t speak or move. He stepped across the threshold and into his quarters with a surge of relief. The doors closed and sealed behind him, locking the rest of the Lost Light out of sight and out of mind.

_So far so good... Now to wait the cycle until the portal device is recharged and I can return Prime back to his reality._

Megatron gently set the now squirming tarp on the floor, still lost in thought. He knew he would have to be careful about the timing.

_Perceptor mentioned that finding the G1 reality was a fluke and once the Lost Light quantum-jumps to our next destination the device may not work properly without recalibration. I can’t ask him to do that, he will demand to know why I have it and what I need it for... not to mention we may never find Prime’s exact dimension again._

_Prime **must** be returned to his reality before our next quantum jump or he may be stuck here permanently. Next jump is a little over one cycle from now, plenty of time to let him get cleaned up, fueled, and rested. _

Megatron felt very nervous as he carefully freed his guest into his locked quarters for the next cycle. The first thing he saw as the tarp started to fall away was the small ornamental collar and leash, which he immediately snapped off and threw off to the side.

 _I will have to remember to dispose of them sooner rather than later,_ he thought as he finished freeing Prime from the tarp. _It would be unwise to have Ravage see them and come to the wrong conclusions._ The panther was nowhere to be seen, thankfully. He was relieved the cassette was honoring his request for privacy.

Setting the tarp aside, Megatron took a moment to look Prime over. He appeared just as he did in the last recording; completely battered and broken. He was covered from helm to pedes in various dried fluids and his plating was tattered.

The surprisingly inconspicuous shackles and shock collar matched Prime’s colors and looked painfully tight, meant to be worn long term. They did nothing to impede his alternate’s enjoyment of his slave, tightened flush as they were against Prime's plating, to the point of cutting into his frame.

Once released, Prime immediately tried to get off the ground and on to his pedes, but he couldn’t find his balance. He tried several times, but each lurching attempt had him falling back helplessly. Finally he gave up and stared mutely at Megatron from his vulnerable position on the floor.

Megatron returned Prime’s stare with trepidation. He honestly hadn’t considered this possibility. He just assumed Prime would be functional enough to clean himself, intake some fuel, and rest for the cycle under his own power. He wasn’t prepared to deal with the debilitated state his alternate left Prime in, and he didn’t dare ask anyone for help.

 _I will have to help him myself_ , Megatron realized with growing distress. He didn’t want to touch the other mech, and he could tell Prime felt the same. _But_ _I can’t just leave him covered in… not like this!_

The upcoming cycle was shaping up to be very, _very_ uncomfortable. “Alright then,” Megatron said awkwardly. “I know you must be confused-”

“Whatever you are planning,” Prime interrupted him quietly, “Spare me the _exposition_ and just get on with it.”

Megatron blinked and then realized the source of the confusion. He was still wearing his disguise. The holo-emitter was still dutifully projecting the form of the tyrant over his own visage.

Shot through the optics indeed!

Megatron rolled his optics for his amazing blunder and face palmed, an epic one involving both servos. The smack of duel-handed disbelief echoed around his empty quarters. He had just walked through the Lost Light looking like the silver tyrant while carrying a suspicious bundle and _no one_ even noticed.

 _I really need to appoint a new director of security._ Admittedly he was very similar in appearance to his alternate, but _really_?

If he were truly in charge things would be far different. Soundwave would have caught him not three steps out of the engine room, Starscream would have…he shut down that train of thought instantly.

Best not to think about his old life.

“Hmm,” Megatron murmured after he recovered, “One moment. I see the problem.” He tapped the control on his wrist panel and the hologram disguise winked out of existence, revealing his real frame. He earnestly returned his attention to his guest.

“I apologize for the deception, Prime, but it was necessary to get you out of there. I can explai-” he cutoff mid-sentence, startled into silence by the other’s expression.

He'd never seen hatred in Prime’s optics before.

Anger, yes.

Absolute fury even, at times. But Prime’s current expression was so far beyond those emotions… the look of him took the atmosphere from Megatron’s intakes. As he beheld those harsh eyes, a memory file ghosted across his processor ... a discussion with Optimus many deca-cycles prior when he had first surrendered to the Autobots.

_“And you,” Megatron had asked, “do you hate me? I have never heard you say it.”_

_“Yes… no,” Optimus corrected himself. “I don’t know how I feel about you. Hate is too simple a word, too easy. Hate sustains you, Megatron, but it diminishes me. I am lessened by it.”_

Prime’s face plates were filled with hate and suffering as he pieced together the new game his tormentor seemed to be playing. “I know what you are planning,” he muttered. “You mentioned the alternate reality this morning… to setup this little scenario. This is another one of your sick games and I refuse to play to your tune.”

Megatron processed the unpleasant implications held within that statement, meeting Prime’s accusing optics. _Hatred does not become you, Prime._ _But I understand._ He could see the full cost of his alternate’s cruelty reflecting within them.

“No games,” Megatron insisted desperately, still clinging to hope he could somehow convince Prime he was being saved. “I have come from the other universe to help you get back to your Autobots.”

Megatron hesitantly reached out his servo and tried again to explain the situation. But Prime merely cringed at the sight of his approaching hand and hatred was instantly combined with cold fear.

Prime ignored his words and instead looked around the suspiciously empty room with its sole furnishing; an ominous-looking berth. He swallowed thickly and looked up at his tormentor incredulously… _You live here?_ …his disbelieving optics asked. He dropped his helm and shuttered his optics while dismissing his tormentor's ridiculous lies out of hand.

 _I should have expected this,_ Megatron realized as he pulled back, severely frustrated. No small number of the recordings involved broken agreements and vile mind games over the last few months. Of course Prime would assume he was up to one of the tyrant’s offensive little deceptions!

Megatron winced, completely understanding Prime’s point of view. This entire situation _was_ ludicrous. He wouldn’t have believed himself either if he hadn’t grown so accustomed to the random insanity that was day-to-day life on board the Lost Light. _This isn’t how things are supposed to happen,_ he thought in frustration. _I am rescuing you!_

But Prime had no trust left within him to offer. His only experiences with Megatron were of the silver tyrant. It was far more believable that his enemy was playing a vile game of false rescue with him then the explanation being presented... and what a cruel game this rescue seemed to be. Now Prime was shaking, optics still tightly shuttered, well beyond terrified.

 _There is nothing I can say to him that he will believe,_ Megatron realized and his spark sank in his chest. _It’s simply too improbable._ _There is no way I can convince him of my good intentions within the timeframe I have to work with._ His assumption of helping Prime as a rescuer and hosting him as a guest collapsed before the greater reality that both of them now faced.

_I have one cycle before he must go back to his dimension. This time spent together is a matter of preparing him for that, restoring him to some sort of fighting ability so he has a chance to remain free upon his return._

Prime finally opened his optics after seeming to find some calm, and looked up at him fearfully. His optics were very pale and he didn’t look functional at all. Megatron knew then he couldn’t return Prime to Cybertron.

 _I will return him to Earth instead_. _Cybertron is not safe for him. At least Earth has fuel and maybe some surviving Autobots._

Megatron focused on the captive in front of him, shifting his weight uncomfortably when he realized that he'd been staring at Prime all this time.

Prime’s expression remained terrified as he watched the complex thoughts and emotions race across his tormentor’s face plates. Staring at Megatron, it was obvious that he was trying to find some hint of the horrific plans his torturer had in store.

“Just get on with it,” Prime repeated, his deep voice subdued and tainted with misery.

 _There it is then_ , Megatron decided with apprehension. _I can’t just lock him in a closet for the duration, he is too weak to tend himself, and I can’t get anyone else involved._ _That is the closest to consent I will hear from him today. Now there is nothing left but to get this over with._

 _I am doing the right thing,_ Megatron reminded himself firmly as he reached out and took Prime by his arm. He started gently pulling the terrified captive to his pedes. _This is a rescue. I am helping him. I am doing the right thing._

So why did he feel like such a monster?

Megatron shuddered when handling Prime brought him back into contact with Prime's electromagnetic field again. The feel of Prime was disturbing to him, the dark emotions becoming as his own. They were deep and real…but they were not from him and yet they flowed across his neural net and confused his spark.

 _There must be something they have that protects them better…something I don’t have._ He couldn’t for the life of him understand why such fields should exist. _Perhaps something to do with those strange ports…_

It was about that point Prime finally realized something similar about his captor. Prime stared at him strangely. “Why can’t I… feel you?”

Megatron looked back at him and just shook his helm. “I don’t have… whatever you call that field.”

“You lie.” Prime pulled back. “You are dampening it somehow. You know I would see the truth otherwise.”

Megatron didn’t bother to answer as there was no point. He did his best to ignore the sheer terror he could _feel_ pulsing through Prime as he pulled him towards the shower.

Prime didn’t want to go into the small room, and tried to pull back. But Megatron just kept up a gentle pressure and pulled the limping mech behind him. Hobbling along, his guest had no choice and was forced to follow.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Megatron said, trying to sound encouraging. Then he winced for the fear the mere sound of his vocalizer brought Prime, highlighted so clearly by the energy fields around him. It was obvious that Prime was worrying over every glyph out of his vocalizer, searching for any hint as to what was coming.

 _Best to be silent and hurry this up,_ Megatron realized. The less he handled Prime the better both of them would feel.

Inside the shower, he tried to release Prime, not wanting to touch him or share his emotional state, but the other mech could barely stand. Moments later the sense of helpless terror was back as Prime wobbled in place and ended up leaning against Megatron just to stay on his pedes.

 _My alternate must have felt how much he was harming Prime._ Megatron held his arms out and away as Prime clutched at him. Surges of confused self-loathing from his unhappy spark twisted within him. _He felt every emotion during his attacks and enjoyed it._

Prime leaned against him heavily and the touch felt… _intimate._

Feverish anxiety for the contact crept through Megatron’s frame. He despised being touched but forced the feeling away. _This is not about me_ , he reminded himself forcefully.

Megatron turned on the shower, heating the fluid to a good, hot temperature. He started cleaning Prime up, scrubbing over the encrusted plating with a wire brush while trying to keep the rest of him as far away from the captive as possible.

Prime shared his aversion to touch and responded to the scrubbing with flinches and wincing. But Megatron could tell from the flickers of relief creeping into his electromagnetic fields that he was appreciating the hot fluid over his filthy plating. The coppery tang was starting to fade away.

Long moments passed and then Megatron saw Prime set his denta as he felt marginally better, and a flash of determination flickered across his field.

“Yesterday,” Prime muttered, “You ordered me… to...” He couldn’t finish the words. His face plates were downcast, but he abruptly slid his arms up and around Megatron, startling him. Leaning closer, Prime pressed himself flush against Megatron. There was a _snick_ sound, and something soft and supple pressed against Megatron's pelvic plating.

Megatron froze in stunned horror for the full frontal touch.

“I… refused. But… if I agree to what you wanted,” Prime asked faintly, “Will you agree to free some of the other slaves?” His words sounded compliant, but his field was _throbbing_ with humiliation and revulsion.

Megatron stared down in shock at the other mech as his spark twisted anew, but he was also amazed. The moment etched itself into his processor; the sight of Optimus Prime reaching upward while buried in a pit of despair and instead of trying to help himself… he was trying to help _someone else_.

 _You don’t deserve what he did to you,_ Megatron wanted to say.

He opened his lip plating to respond but froze in horror as Prime leaned forward and… _kissed_ his intakes. The expression was foreign to him, bizarre. The coppery tang was back, the smell of his alternate’s transfluid was overwhelming from the filthy intakes attached to his, and now he could _taste_ it, smeared over his own lip components.

_Guh!_

Shocked, he choked into the battered lip plating attached to his intakes. He didn’t have an electromagnetic field that shared his emotional state. He didn’t have plating that flared, and so Prime was unaware of the sheer horror coursing through Megatron at the intimate touch. His fuel tank roiled and he barely kept from purging into Prime's mouth. Shaking, he carefully reached out and pushed the other mech away from his intakes. He gasped when he was freed of the other and his fingers curled in spark-deep distress.

Prime watched Megatron break the kiss with a mix of disappointment and complete relief on his face plates.

“I don’t have…” Megatron coughed as his vocalizer was thick with static. He scratched back enough control that his vocalizer was steady enough to answer. “Cybertronians in my universe don’t interface in that way. We don't have those parts.”

Prime watched him suspiciously.

“I have a better plan,” Megatron said firmly, though his tanks were still roiling. “Settle down and let me clean you up, and within one cycle I will have you back to your Autobots on Earth. You can return to your Cybertron once you are functional and free your enslaved faction yourself.”

Prime just continued glowering at him in sheer disbelief.

Megatron carefully removed Prime’s arms from around him and stepped back a pace, putting space between their frames. His limbs were shaking again, but he forced himself to return to his task of scrubbing the other mech clean. Unfortunately Prime left his interface plating open, and he couldn’t stop his optics from dropping down to the exposed valve in morbid curiosity.

Megatron regretted it instantly.

The recordings and photos were bad enough, but seeing everything in person was vastly worse. He feverishly gulped back against a purge for a second time when he realized that pink fluid was seeping out.

Another waft of tangy copper and his long-suffering fuel tanks gave up the ghost.

The contents of his fuel tank spilled past his lips, the fool’s energon emptying against the wall and draining down to the grate in the floor. He coughed and choked until the spasm passed and then he slowly straightened.

The numb feeling was back and now Prime was glowering at him hatefully again.

“This is _your_ mess,” Prime muttered, while trying hard not to look at the ever-present transfluid that seemed to coat his every waking moment. His tormentor's seemly reticent act was infuriating him.

Megatron didn’t respond, and just unlatched and handed him the showerhead wordlessly and silently returned to task. He just kept scrubbing as he didn’t know what to say. There was _nothing_ he could say.

Prime needed his Autobots. _I will get you back to them as quickly as I can._ From him there could only be some desperately needed help, and then freedom.

Megatron saw the sticky mess coating the corners of Prime’s mouth, the pink fluid between his denta. He saw the servos shaking as Prime rinsed down below, the battered plating trembling.

 _Get over yourself,_ Megatron ordered down at his own shaking frame and grabbed a smaller brush. _Get this finished so you can get some fuel in him and let him recharge. Finish this so you can get the frag away from him._ Squeezing some denta cleaner onto it, he handed it to Prime and gestured for him to clean his mouth. He moved around to his back plating, scrubbing industriously.

_Almost finished…_

Prime hesitated and then started frantically scrubbing out his intakes with a soft moan of relief. He was going to rinse his mouth, but the brush slipped through his shaking servos. He started to reach down to retrieve it.

“No, don’t,” Megatron said with a grimace of disgust. The floor was covered with… “I will grab another. The floor is filthy.” He reached out and thoughtlessly patted the captive’s shoulder in another attempt to be comforting.

Prime sucked in a long, deep ventilation and slowly turned and stared at him, his servos clenching painfully tight.

The hatred was back.

Foaming denta cleaner flecked with pink dripped down Prime's chin.

“You…” he hissed.

There was a unique sound…a twang of breaking wire… the sound of sanity snapping. Megatron could literally _see_ the madness take hold. Prime’s optics went wild and he attacked, fists balled and lashing out as hard as he could manage.

Fortunately for Megatron, even in his weakened state due to his pitiful frame and the fool’s energon, Prime couldn’t really hurt him. But maniac rage did give Prime some strength and he staggered forward and punched Megatron in the face plates. He barely felt the hit, but the hits kept coming.

Prime was out of his fragging mind.

But each hit gave him a flicker-flash of emotion from the other, and he could tell letting Prime have at him was helping. Maniac rage and determination was replacing the paralyzing terror in the fields surrounding the furious mech.

 _He needs this,_ Megatron realized as another pitifully weak hit landed. _He_ _needs to assert himself, needs to remember what it feels like to really defend himself._

So Megatron let him.

Hit after hit after hit rained over him, over his face plates, over his body, and he took them all… he was relieved, even. It proved Prime still had some fight left in him. _This_ expression of anguish he understood. _This_ interaction he was completely accustomed to and it was something he could truly help with.

Another tottering blow from Prime only filled him with elation. _He is merely beaten down, not broken._

At some point Megatron just moved with all of the kicks, the punches, and let the frantic captive drive him out of the shower and around the room. As he accepted the blows he thought he saw the vent cover in the ceiling move, but a quick look assured him he was imagining things. He did nothing more than throw up a defensive arm to protect his face plates, but otherwise didn’t even look at Prime, not wanting him to feel any threat in return.

Megatron wasn’t sure how long the very mild beating lasted, but he finally ended up curling up against a wall for some time as Prime was having trouble walking. Finally Prime’s maniac strength gave out and he fell back and backward, completely spent. His back plates hit the floor with a _clunk_ , and he lay shaking in exhaustion.

Megatron got to his pedes and slowly walked over. He stood over Prime for a long moment, his own frame shaking a little from the beating, but mostly from all of the transferred emotions.

“Feel any better?”

“I don’t believe you,” Prime whispered.

“I know,” Megatron said calmly, having already accepted that reality. “It changes nothing. But I do hope you feel better.”

Megatron _was_ surprised to see internal fluid on his hands after he absentmindedly wiped his intakes. He was startled to look down and see his entire body was a small river of little wounds. Little splatters of his internal fluid were dripping down to the floor.

Prime, too, was staring at the little puddles of fluid around Megatron’s pedes, something twisting in his expression. The kind words from the other vocalizer were signed in blood.

Megatron didn’t notice, having accidentally smeared internal fluid in his optics. He rubbed at them and disregarded his injuries. _They aren’t serious… they will seal themselves._ He didn’t worry over it.

Instead he bent down and lifted the exhausted frame at his pedes and laid him out over the berth, trying to ignore the whirlwind of emotions that overwhelmed him when he touched the other mech. It was too much to process, so he didn’t. He accepted the emotions and let them fall over him like water, and he was beyond relieved when he was able to break contact.

But that feeling was short lived and Megatron frowned when Prime focused his optics on the ceiling and snapped his interface cover back open with a _snick_.

Prime’s servos were clenched, his expression…strange.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Megatron said with a shudder. “Cover it. That’s not going to happen.” The sight of the exposed interface ports continued to deeply disturb him. He found them genuinely horrifying, forever etched across his processor in connection with unspeakable abuse and cruelty.

Prime didn’t obey the order or otherwise make any movement. Only his optics held any motion as they focused on him, waiting.

Megatron didn’t understand the jumbled expression on Prime’s face plates anymore. He certainly _did_ understand the significance of his flickering, ice blue optics; Prime was desperately low on energy.

Megatron closed his optics at the sight of the bare ports in front of him and had to take a moment to calm his roiling fuel tank. It was threatening to spill out the last dredges of fool’s energon, a meal it already didn’t agree with. Adding vile smells and spark deep revulsion to the mix and it was a wonder he still had anything left in his tanks at this point.

 _This is not about me!_ Megatron mentally yelled at himself for the umpteenth time since this cycle started. _Pull yourself together!_ He gathered himself and opened his optics, startled that Prime was staring at him with an intense expression.

The disturbing ports were still exposed. Prime scrutinized him with soft shallow breaths and anxiously clenched denta.

Megatron set his pedes and opened his intakes to order Prime to _close those **now** for Primus sake_ when a flicker of inspiration hit. He pulled out an emergency kit from his subspace and rummaged through it. Pulling out a covering from the kit, he carefully laid it over Prime’s mid-section. It covered the abdominals and array completely and he tucked the ends of the blanket around him firmly, blocking access to the brutalized ports.

Prime just looked down at the blanket, and then back up, the movement so very hesitant. His expression softened a tiny fraction as his denta slowly unclenched. Then he quietly reached out and ran his servos along the edge of the blanket. His trembling fingers curled around it, holding the fabric tightly. His optics continued to flicker, reminding Megatron how badly he needed fuel.

Megatron pulled a few energon cubes out of his subspace, and carefully offered them to Prime. His guest looked surprised and then inclined his helm toward the fuel and opened his intakes. He was clearly expecting to be fed. Megatron winced, but helped him, and Prime swallowed the fuel with closed optics.

Prime’s optics flew back open when he tasted the mid-grade. It was sweet, and much stronger than anything he had received in a long time. Then his expression tightened as his fuel tanks registered a complaint. Moments later he pushed his helm over the side of the berth and purged the fuel right back out. He stared down at the mess and something wretched crossed his face.

Megatron could tell Prime was worried about the mess. His spark hurt that much more to know just how damned petty his alternate was. “Don’t worry about it,” he said firmly and offered more fuel. Behind him, a small panel opened and a tiny cleaning drone scurried towards the spilled fluid.

Prime relaxed a little and accepted it without a word. He was still watching Megatron with that strange expression. The fuel went down his intakes without hesitation this time. But moments later he purged again.

More fuel was provided, rinse, repeat.

Finally Prime managed to keep the energon down. His optics were already glowing brighter as the fuel made its way through his beleaguered frame.

This time Megatron handed Prime the next cube so the mech could drink it himself. Taking the cube with stronger servos, Prime gulped it down with thick, frantic swallows, the sort of desperation only the truly starving could know. Megatron stepped away and rummaged through his subspace. He quickly gathered and laid out the hard fuel he had swiped from the ship’s supply within reach of Prime.

The festive-looking tray was filled with semi-solids and little flavored cubes. He was certain it was destined for Swerve's, due to the weak grade. Providing the weak fuel as little delicacies would only whet his customer’s appetites to drum up sales, but they were perfect to fill Prime’s maltreated fuel tank.

Prime would make far better use of the little treats.

Prime just stared, optics widening at the sight of the lovely little feast. Moments later he started to eat, his hands shaking for the anticipation. He was far too hungry to bother with propriety and took the little bites of fuel a handful at a time. Gratification was starting to creep across his face plates as his fuel tanks slowly filled to the brim.

Megatron didn’t notice, too busy digging around in his subspace. Finally he located what he was looking for and pulled out a small cutting tool. He activated the small laser-welder and sat down next to Prime. Moving slowly so to not startle his guest, he got to work removing the shackles on his pedes.

Prime stared at him as he worked. Wincing for the pain, he was still relieved when the too-tight pede shackles came off and Megatron moved up to his servos. He moved his freed pedes and clenched his fists. His optics were glowing much brighter now.

“Settle down and hold still,” Megatron murmured to him, concentrating on his work. “Trying not to burn you.”

Then the shackle on his right wrist fell off.

“I don’t understand,” Prime rumbled at him finally over another mouthful of energon goodies, his soft words muffled from the fuel disappearing down his hungry intakes. “If this is a trick, you are doing a damned fine job.”

“Believe as you will, Prime. It changes nothing,” Megatron said. “Eight joors from now we will be returning to your dimension, and you would do well to use this time to rest.”

Prime swallowed and worked his intakes, clearly still enjoying the residual taste of the various grades of energon across his glossa. His fuel tanks were brimming and his optics were getting droopy.

He _did_ desperately need recharge.

Megatron stood up and began to walk to the other side of the berth. The quiet was broken when his heavy pede landed down on the discarded binding, crushing it loudly. He vindictively ground down with his heavy pede as he stepped on it. Completely destroying it underfoot, he moved towards the other remaining shackle.

Something was starting to register through the suspicious haze, but Prime’s frame decided at that moment that recharge was no longer an option. His helm slumped as he dropped into unconsciousness. His optics closed and fell dark as he slipped off-line.

Megatron watched him succumb to his need for sleep with a surge of relief. This day had been relentless. He felt drained, numb, and anxious in a way he hadn’t ever felt before. He started to work on the shock collar, cutting it away while Prime drowsed fitfully.

 

* * *

 

A polite knock on the door woke Megatron out of his own shallow recharge.

He'd finished removing all of the restraints from Prime’s frame a joor ago. He had been relieved to step away, grateful to get out of range of Prime's unbearable electromagnetic field. Now he was resting on the floor, his back propped against the far wall, his spark slowly cycling down from all of the dark, wildly erratic emotions. He made sure to stay within optic sight of Prime. Fortunately his guest remained on the berth and so far had given him no further trouble.

The polite knock came again. He immediately recognized that distinct -textbook polite- three tap request.

He quickly got to his pedes, gratified to see Prime was still drowsing. He carefully positioned himself to conceal the sleeping mech behind him and cautiously opened the door the minimum amount necessary to greet his visitor.

Ultra Magnus looked strained and got straight to the point, one of his many redeeming traits as far as Megatron was concerned. “Sorry to disturb you captain, but I was ordered by Rodimus to… are you alright?” Magnus was staring at him, taken aback to see the state of Megatron’s frame.

Megatron looked down and winced when he realized he was still covered with dried internal fluid from Prime’s earlier attack, all of it clearly his own. “Mhm,” he muttered. “Fine, thank you.”

Ultra Magnus didn’t look convinced. “What happened? Under code regulations I would be required to file a report for any serious unexplained injur-”

“I fell down the maintenance shaft from the main energy quill,” Megatron said cheerfully. “And these little scratches are far from serious.”

“You fell down the _stairs_?”

“Hit every rung on the way down, unfortunately.”

“But-”

“Magnus,” Megatron interrupted politely. “ _Don’t ask_. Now, can I help you?”

Ultra Magnus opened his intakes for a long moment, and then closed them in resignation. He took an in-vent, braced himself, and started again. “I was ordered by Rodimus to escort you down to the main cargo bay. There has been… an _incident_.”

“Incident?” Megatron questioned carefully, not moving one micron from the door. Something in Ultra Magnus’ desperately twitching lip components suggested that this request was not fully in line with Autobot code and regulations. And so Megatron planted his pedes instead and narrowed his optics suspiciously. He was in no mood for his co-captain’s shenanigans tonight.

“Contact Rodimus,” Megatron ordered firmly. “I am off shift, and unless the ship is in serious danger…and by that I mean **imminent** destruction… he _will_ be dealing with whatever madness is currently transpiring on board this pathetic excuse of a vessel.”

Megatron looked down at himself pointedly. “I am indisposed.”

Thankfully Ultra Magnus decided not to be difficult. “Consider yourself lucky,” he groaned as he took a step back in defeat.

“What has happened?”

“A group of sentient, colorful alien equines just recently materialized inside the ship, apparently due to some sort of energy mishap.”

“Energy mishap?”

“The translation isn’t exact. We are having trouble with the dialect. The word keeps coming though the universal translator as ‘magic’."

“Magic.” Megatron repeated flatly. _Surely you jest?_

Ultra Magnus nodded as he pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge. _I wish._

“Perceptor is trying to get a sample for analysis. He says the energy type appears to be completely unknown to science.” Ultra Magnus’ wrist comm pinged; he glanced at the sender ID tag with a frown and then ignored it. “He is positively giddy.”

“He would be.”

“Fortunately as far as I can tell the aliens appear _very_ friendly, but apparently they need assistance to return to…wherever they came from.”

“Assistance?”

“Everyone is down in the cargo bay. According to their leader the energy they use requires a large group of ordered tones and sounds in succession, having unity and continuity in combination with rhythmic movement that will in temporal relationships sequence together to produce a…magical… composition… that… will…”

Magnus choked and couldn’t finish.

“In other words,” Megatron finished for him, “Everyone is down in the cargo bay making complete _buffoons_ of themselves singing and dancing and dear _Rodimus_ intends for me to participate.”

The look of utter despair on the normally stoic second-in-command’s face plates confirmed his suspicions. “Their leader’s name is “Princess Twilight Sparkle,” Magnus unintentionally deadpanned. His wrist communicator pinged again, insistently.

_Oh frag no._

Megatron shook his helm in sharp decline. “It’s Rodimus’ shift-”

“I know. He tried to authorize the use of subterfuge and deadly force to get you down there. Recording devices are set up, apparently. Crosscut wants to include the resulting dance number in his next production.” Ultra Magnus dropped his helm into his hands, overcome with the horror of it all. “I am on shift and diplomatic regulations require I attend. Rodimus has ordered me to participate.”

Megatron’s lip plating quirked a minuscule fraction for the plight of the other mech. “You have my sincerest condolences,” he murmured, and he meant it. Recording devices meant Magnus may never live this down and he shuddered at the thought of his universe's Optimus Prime seeing _him_ engaged in such foolishness. There was no way in the Pit he would be caught anywhere near the cargo bay now.

Burning, flaming death would be preferable.

There was a sudden flash of sound and color and light, and the corridor started raining brightly colored stems consisting of the reproductive organs of various forms of vegetation.

Megatron carefully squinted at the falling greenery. “Magnus… is it raining flowers?”

“Apparently.”

“Hmm,” Megatron muttered, sanity check coming back clean. “Just checking.”

Megatron shook his helm as he watched the pleasantly scented organic greenery materialize near the ceiling and drop to the hallway floor. The corridor was rapidly filling with brightly colored flowers as maintenance drones started pouring out of the wall hatches, sliding to a stop while looking at the mess and instantly going into conniption fits.

“Oh, I will most _definitely_ be sitting this one out.”

Ultra Magnus gave him a look of utter longing. “I wish I could say the same.” An instant later his wrist comm pinged, and the sound of an emergency comm override came through the line.

“Maggie!” Rodimus’ wildly cheerful voice burst out of the line. His greeting was accompanied by the sounds of a boisterous party in progress with high-pitched, giggly feminine voices singing cheerfully in the background. “Where are you? Do you have Megs with you? Hurry _up_! We have a conga line going!”

Ultra Magnus cut the comm line with a small, horrified noise. “Do you have a full charge on your blaster?” he asked, looking desperate.

Megatron frowned at him. “I do. But did you not say they are peaceful?” He took one look at his second-in-command’s expression and realization dawned. Then he took pity and pulled out his blaster. “One moment while I check…”

He checked the settings and then promptly shot the other mech in the pede. “ _Primus!_ My _sincerest_ apologies. Some sort of weapon malfunction. Do you require assistance to the Medbay?”

 _Please don’t ask me to take you to the Medbay,_ Megatron’s tone said.

“That won’t be necessary,” Ultra Magnus said, unable to keep the relief out of his vocalizer even as he limped away down the hall.

“Send me the accidental weapons discharge paperwork,” Megatron called after him. “I will fill it out for you tomorrow.”

Ultra Magnus gave him a sketchily-looking gesture resembling a thumbs up as he tapped open his comm to contact Rodimus with the “bad” news. It was poorly formed, but Megatron recognized the sentiment intended. _Magnus has probably been practicing that for cycles._

“Rodimus, this is Ultra Magnus…yes I heard you…no he isn’t coming…fell down the maintenance shaft…I have had an accident myself…apologies...on my way to the medbay now…pretty bad…”

Ultra Magnus’ relieved vocalizer trailed off as he rounded the corner and hobbled out of vocalizer range.

Megatron closed the door with satisfaction.

 

* * *

 

After a quick shower to remove the splatters of internal fluid from his frame, Megatron decided to try again to get a bit of rest as well. He drifted off from where he was sitting on the floor with his back plates to the wall, but the sound of frantic servos tapping and worrying at the door lock brought him out of his own fitful recharge in a hurry.

Prime had crept up after he had fallen asleep and was frantically trying to escape out the door. Entirely understandable - but not acceptable - and Megatron groaned and dragged himself to his pedes. Prime froze where he was standing and looked alarmed as Megatron approached.

“Easy,” Megatron murmured to the frightened mech, leaving his servos open and loose.

Prime watched him approach with flared plating.

 _So expressive,_ Megatron thought. That was one modification he could see the appeal for. He didn’t make any threatening moves at all and merely scooped the other mech up and brought him right back to the berth. Halfway there he felt the plating under his fingers relax and Prime calmed as the servos around him remained gentle.

Megatron set him back down and reached for the discarded blanket.

Prime lay where he was plopped onto the berth and stared as Megatron covered his still bare components with the blanket again and then swiftly moved away. He immediately retook his position sitting with his back plates to the wall.

“Not tying you down,” Megatron grumbled as he leaned his helm back against the wall, “But you _are_ going to stay on that berth and rest until it is time to leave.”

Prime settled back on the berth unhappily, but Megatron was relieved when he heard the other mech close his intimate panels and stay quiet. Then he checked his chronometer and sighed.

Still six joors left until the device would be charged enough for the jump to the other dimension and back. He sighed again as he settled back down. Six joors until this rescue was truly complete and he could return to the standard Lost Light insanity that was beginning to seem so appealingly normal to him now.

He considered checking to see if the flower rain had stopped, but changed his mind, not wanting to open the door and give Prime any ideas. “Six joors,” Megatron explained to his unhappy guest instead. “Then we leave.”

“Back to your suite,” Prime said, dully.

“No,” Megatron answered firmly, but did not elaborate.

_The instant he sees Earth he will understand he has been rescued. That the Lost Light was real and not some sick game and I am not the complete monster this other version of me is. This will all be worth it._

It was already worth it. Prime had been on his last legs from the most recent recordings. He was certain Prime wouldn’t have lasted much longer. But this rescue had been more than just saving Prime. It had been about redeeming himself in some measure, proving his intentions if only to himself. This rescue was his rejection of the vileness so callously on display in the recordings.

_I am not a monster!_

When Megatron had first started out he had wanted to roar his truth at the images burned in his processor. He had wanted to help Prime get back on his pedes and restore him to sanity, but he had not been prepared for today. He had not been prepared to remain a monster in the optics of the other mech, and though he understood…it still _hurt._

Thankfully they were nearing the end of this endless cycle…and now Megatron just wanted to put this nightmare out of his processor as soon as possible. He wanted to forget. He wanted to forget _everything_ about this dreadful day. Especially the smell of that pink fluid Prime still somehow reeked of.

Prime had settled back, but his optics didn’t close. Instead the mech clenched and unclenched his fingers, spark and mind at war.

Hope was trying to reignite within him, and try as he might, he couldn’t quash it.

 

* * *

 

Megatron almost drifted back into recharge when the sound of pedes hitting the floor brought him back to full wakefulness.

 _Please no_ , Megatron groaned to himself. _For Primus sake Prime…_ _just go back to recharge._

But he didn’t.

Instead his unsteady pede steps sounded in approach and moments later he loomed over Megatron, currently propped against the wall. Megatron slowly opened his optics and looked up to regard the mech staring anxiously down at him.

Megatron tilted his helm back towards the berth entreatingly. _Go back to sleep._

Prime just stared back down at him. His pale blue optics searched the other for long moments, carefully probing the red optics peering wearily up at him for any trace of the silver tyrant. Finding none at all, he finally sat down next to Megatron, his back strut sliding down the wall with a scraping sound.

The comforting blanket with its promise of safety was still wrapped around him.

“Two joors, Prime.” Megatron closed his optics and muttered to him, not wanting to pick him up or otherwise touch him in any way. “ _Please_. You look terrible. Go lay back down and rest.”

Prime silently shook his helm.

Sleep was impossible tonight. It was too much to ask of him to recharge when he was seemingly poised on the cusp of rescue _or_ the end of this frighteningly cruel game. The slow building hope for freedom was churning within him, along with fear for the still very real chance that this was all just a vile trick Megatron was playing on him.

If it _was_ a game, this false rescue would be the worst one yet.

But instead of fear Prime clung to hope and reached out and touched the other, his fingers tracing the silver plating of his captor-rescuer. It was both a source of comfort and anxiety that he couldn’t feel the emotions of other mech, making him completely unpredictable. But it also meant he didn’t feel like the silver tyrant. His expressions were different as well, not seeped in malice and hatred.

Every touch Prime received was calm and neutral, and in blandness his captor became a warm frame to cling to, a source of desperately needed comfort.

Megatron flinched for the emotions he felt pulsing across Prime’s electromagnetic field; anger, fear, loneliness, and hope were only a small taste of the complexity of emotions broiling within the other mech. They were still too much for him to process.

 _As long as nothing violent…or… happens I don’t care,_ Megatron tried to tell himself as Prime crept closer. But it wasn’t true. He _did_ care. He was well beyond his tolerance for being touched, and the cord that comprised his grip on his sense of patience was dangerously frayed. Then Prime sidled up to him and pressed in close and finally Megatron had enough.

Megatron sat up straight and reached out for Prime, intending to pick him up while grinding his denta in frustration. “You need to get _your **aft** _ back on that berth and rest-”

Prime relaxed almost immediately as Megatron gently picked him up yet again and moved as if to return him to the berth. But instead of holding still and allowing himself to be carried, Prime twisted in his arms and clung to him, wrapping his body tightly around the other.

Megatron found himself unbalanced and fell back onto his back plates with Prime clinging to him almost feverishly. It took everything in him to keep from hyperventilating.

 _This is some sort of deep trauma at play,_ Megatron realized as the feel of the other mech was a whirlwind of emotion. He was completely out of his element and didn’t know what to do. Rung would know, but he couldn’t call the psychiatrist, not even to ask for advice.

What would he even _say_?

_I rescued Prime from sexual slavery from my alternate self from another dimension. I am holding him captive in my quarters for a cycle until I can return him, but now he is trying to cuddle with me…how best to respond?_

Oh, that conversation wouldn’t do at all.

Not at all.

So Megatron did the only thing he felt he could do, which was scoot himself until he was back against the wall and then hold very still while Prime clung to him like a mech drowning in a smelter.

Apparently it was enough, because slowly and surely the whirlwind calmed around him, and after several long breems Prime relaxed back into recharge.

Megatron’s spark and frame were still struggling to calm, and he found his mind wandering while trying to distance himself from what was happening. Very soft sounds brought him back to his senses. He hesitated when he realized that Prime had begun to weep quietly into his plating, his helm buried between his neck and shoulder.

So very quietly, but the low sounds and the shivers were there.

He winced for the hundredth time that cycle. He hesitated, wondering if he should do or say something, but then settled back down and decided to pretend he couldn’t hear the soft cries of anguish.

But his spark heard every little sound and twisted painfully within him. Slowly he raised his arms up and wrapped them around Prime, and the weeping continued for some time after. And yet with every soft shudder, some little bit of anguish dripped and flaked away, leaving Prime a tiny bit lighter at spark.

 

* * *

 

The cycle finally neared completion.

Megatron hesitantly woke Prime from his position wrapped around his front. He laid a hand on the back strut and shook him gently. Prime woke with a startled huff, surprised he had managed to fall back into recharge.

“It’s time.” Megatron said, and he couldn’t keep the relief out of his vocalizer. “Come on. Let’s get you back to your Autobots.”

It took him a few tries to get Prime to release him, and several reassurances later he was finally able to pull himself away. Prime stayed on the floor, strong enough now to get to his pedes but too worried to move.

Megatron quickly gathered the tarp from the corner and laid it out on the floor. He turned towards Prime and gestured him over.

Prime was eyeing the tarp at his pedes with apprehension. “Why?”

“It is necessary,” Megatron murmured apologetically.

Prime didn’t answer.

Megatron said nothing more. Instead he reached out and took Prime’s arm and gently pulled the mech towards him. He quickly wrapped Prime back up in the tarp for the journey through the Lost Light, back to the engine room and the return to his parallel dimension.

Megatron couldn’t help but brush his servos against the battered plating as he worked to wrap up Prime, and once again he could feel the emotions of the other mech. Prime's deep sense of fear was back, churning in his field, disturbing and beyond depressing. This was the telling moment. This was when the rug was to be pulled out from under Prime’s pedes and the cruelty would resume.

Megatron could understand the terror. _Almost there,_ he thought, and hefted the other mech over his shoulder again. _It’s almost over for the both of us._

It was the night cycle now, and he was prepared to move quickly.

He left his quarters, walking briskly though the corridors of the Lost Light. He hurried, wanting to get Prime back to Earth and his Autobots as quickly as possible. His thoughts churned as his captive squirmed across his shoulder, trying to get more comfortable. He didn’t have the spark to order the mech to hold still in case there were nosy crew members in the hall.

Megatron just hurried faster, and was thankful the corridors were clear tonight.

 _Mostly_ clear.

“Look out sir!” Tailgate’s normally friendly voice shouted in frantic warning.

Surprising him from a side corridor, Tailgate took the sharp corner on his hover-board far too fast. The diminutive little bot misjudged his turn and ended up crashing into the wall while desperately trying to avoid colliding with the ship’s co-captain.

Tailgate was on his pedes in a flash with an alarmed flare in his visor, and snatched up his hover-board in his servos. “Sorry captain,” he called up to Megatron, “Didn’t see you!”

His visor had been glowing cheerfully only moments before, but dimmed as soon as he processed the stern red optics of his commanding officer frowning down at him.

Megatron turned a pace and narrowed his optics at the dent in the wall, looking displeased in the hope it would frighten the small mech away. He was satisfied to watch the little bot squirm in place, but Tailgate didn’t make a run for it like Rodimus would have.

“Sorry about that sir,” Tailgate repeated, embarrassed. “The halls are mostly clear right now so I was practicing my moves.” He raised his ornately decorated hover-board and laughed nervously.

“I see,” Megatron said, thoughtfully. “Well then… carry on.”

Tailgate watched the co-captain start briskly walking away, and felt the need to say something. He was an empathetic little bot and had a nasal sensor for when mechs weren’t alright, and it was telling him now that the mech walking away wasn’t okay.

“Where are you going?” Tailgate called after him. “Did you need any help?”

At that moment Megatron heard Prime start to mumble something through the tarp. He instantly straightened his back strut and squeezed his arm tightly around the wrapped bundle over his shoulder. He rumbled his engine in warning while trying his damndest not to look like he was threatening someone wrapped up in a tarp and dangling over his shoulder.

Megatron turned back and raised an optic ridge at the small mech. If he believed in Primus he would be praying now that Prime stayed silent. All it would take is a few pitiful cries for help and things would become very, very difficult for him.

Thankfully Prime chose to obey the unspoken command and remained mostly quiet. _Almost there,_ he thought desperately at the poor wreck starting to squirm around in the tarp again.

They were both _so close_ to freedom.

_Go away Tailgate!_

“I am returning these components to the engine room,” Megatron lied smoothly. “Perceptor was too busy to take them himself.” He covered his man handling of the tarp by pretending to adjust it on his shoulder. But Prime quickly started to squirm again and he was forced to continue “adjusting” it to cover the movements, finally pulling the tarp off his shoulder and adjusting it in his arms.

“Oh, okay.” Tailgate was starting to edge away, though he kept eyeing the tarp.

“Try to be more careful,” Megatron admonished and the mini-bot mumbled an affirmative as he edged away, squinting as he did so.

Tailgate could have _sworn_ he saw that tarp move.

Megatron watched him leave with relief and hurried on his way. Walking briskly down the final corridor to the engine room, he was startled to feel a blast of emotion from Prime.

 _He can adjust his electromagnetic fields_ , Megatron realized. Prime was doing so now, his field reaching out and buffeting Megatron. The bound mech was growing more and more upset with all the handling and was seeking reassurance.

The electromagnetic field running along his plating was the equivalent of Prime clutching at him last night, trying to get some sense for his emotions, unused to being unable to feel his tormentor’s moods.

Megatron hesitantly folded the mech more comfortably in his arms, holding him bridal style instead of across his shoulder. He patted the tarp firmly where Prime’s back strut should be.

“Steady,” he murmured to the other mech. “Almost home.”

Then he felt Prime relax and tried to keep his stride as even as possible. He made it back to the engine room without any further trouble. He pulled out the small, hidden device and unplugged it from the warp engines.

The device blinked at him, charged and ready. _It is going straight back into the furnace as soon as I return to the ship._

Perceptor had a point. He was currently in the habit of secreting every little bit of technology and anything else he could get his servos on for the uncertain future, intending to keep his options open. But he didn’t want his alternate self to have any way to make it back to their dimension.

Megatron adjusted the landing site and reactivated the small device.

Across his back, Prime squirmed as a familiar shimmer overtook their reality, and everything changed.

 

* * *

 

Megatron flew for many long miles.

The cheerful sun above shined down on him as the lush and blooming greenery of Earth flashed past.

 _...Primus_ but he hated this miserable planet.

The organic greenery and the occasional human he saw filled him with loathing. The last time he was on this muddy disaster of a planet had been shortly before his surrender to the Autobots. He'd been hell bent on wreaking vengeance upon the human insects for shooting him through the helm and also Optimus Prime for his misplaced faith in them.

There were only bad memories for him here.

Held in a much more comfortable position, the nervous bundle of Prime currently nestled in his arms had quickly fallen quiet. Megatron considered releasing him from the tarp, but he could tell Prime had already drifted back into a desperately needed recharge. That and he really did need to keep moving; he was back on a timer now.

Fortunately the portal site had deposited them on the correct continent, and Megatron was not too far from his destination… relatively speaking. He had immediately picked up Cybertronian signals as soon as he had arrived, and tracing them to a direction had been all too easy.

He had his suspicions as to where the signals were originating from, and the direction agreed with his conclusion. He aligned his flight speed with the time remaining before he would be automatically recalled back to the Lost Light and safety. Nervous for the timing, he checked his chronometer and was relieved to see that this grueling rescue was nearly complete.

Still wrapped in the tarp, Prime was protected from the cold wind and relaxed fully as he slipped into a deeper sleep. His slow ventilations could be felt through the thin plastic tarp.

 _Good,_ Megatron thought as he held the swaddled mech carefully, trying to keep the flight as smooth as possible. _Get some rest. You need it._

The distance passed swiftly. 

Soon the Cybertronian signals he was following grew stronger, and he wasn't surprised when they led him to the mountain the Ark had crashed into millions of years previous. He already knew the history and location; they had been included in the downloaded from the info-net when he originally rescued Prime on Cybertron a cycle ago.

The Ark had been overrun when Megatron’s final push had resulted in the capture of Optimus Prime and the shattering of the Autobot forces. It seemed the Autobots had regrouped and worked out an alliance with Earth (after the Earth Defense Command under the direction of General Marissa Faireborn sent the occupying Decepticons packing from Earth).

Megatron remained cautious though. The last thing he wanted was to hand Prime back over to the Decepticons... such a disaster would be unthinkable. But the frequencies he was picking up seemed Autobot in origin.

His access as an Autobot came in handy when he finally drew close enough to the source that various data signals resounded in his audials from his internal comms were replaced with close range signals.

He felt a rush of relief when their signal noise filled his audials from open frequencies.  He was close enough now that could hear the Ark’s chatter now and he was relieved to hear it was full of Autobots. Anxious, worried Autobots. The Ark was absolutely _teeming_ with them. His grip on Prime tightened a bit as he circled and then chose a likely-looking landing site some distance from the Ark.

Megatron knew better than to get too close.

He landed as close to the crashed ship as safely possible and was gratified that Prime had remained comfortably asleep for the entirety of the flight. He was as careful as possible as he laid Prime out on the ground, and then gently unwrapped the battered blue and red frame.

Prime jerked for the sudden change.

Gone was the oppressive dark of frightening, confining rooms. Instead, bright sunlight shined down upon him, warming his plating wherever it touched him. The moisture of green and growing things licked at his nasal sensors as a small bee buzzed past one of his antenna. He blinked several times, disbelieving, and then his optics flew open wide as truth dawned bright.

“Earth…” Prime murmured softly, stunned.

Straightening, Megatron stood back and looked over to the Ark in the distance, and then back down at Prime, still lying on the ground. Prime was blinking up at the beautiful sunlight … blue optics taking in the shining light and warm wind and blue sky above him.

Megatron opened his intakes then, intending to say something triumphant as old habits die hard… _Now can you see? Now do you understand? …_ but no sound escaped his vocalizer. He realized that despite the heat of the afternoon he felt cold inside.

All he wanted now was to leave.

Megatron pulled out his weapon and fired one shot into the air. He was close enough to the Ark that the Autobots inside should notice the weapon discharge. The shot wouldn’t be missed.

“Get up, Prime. Your Autobots are on the way.” Megatron murmured to him.

Prime stared up at him as full comprehension slowly, so very slowly, began to creep across his face plates. _Not a trick. Not a game. It’s over. It’s finally … over._

Megatron took a cautious step back, his optics locked on the Ark in the distance. He knew he was no safer here than he had been in this reality’s Iacon. After what had been done to Prime, the Autobots would tear him apart without a second thought if they managed to catch up to him. The fool’s energon made him weak and even the mini-bots would be capable of dispatching him.

Prime sat up with difficulty, but Megatron didn’t move toward him, even though his first instinct was to offer his servo to help the other mech up. The time for that had passed.

 _I did what I came to do,_ Megatron thought with satisfaction. _He is safe and I am finished._

Instead he stepped back yet another pace to give Prime his space as the other mech finally struggled to his pedes. In the distance, dusty contrails appeared as multiple mechs crested the horizon. Their tires spun and the zesty sounds of vehicle-mode engines preceded them as they roared towards his position.

Megatron peered at them, pleased that although he didn’t recognize any of them, he could tell they were definitely Autobots.

Optimus Prime absolutely recognized them, each and every one. He made a strangled sound and staggered forward a few steps, and then remembered the mech behind him. He tilted his helm, his face plates pulled back in an expression of incredulous amazement.

“Megatron…?” Prime mumbled, and reached out a servo towards him.

“Go on,” Megatron said encouragingly while backing away. “You are going to be fine.” He just smiled at Prime, an honest expression of genuine relief, and he continued to back away. Then he transformed and very wisely fled.

“Megatron…!” Prime called after him feebly. “Wait…I didn’t…thank-”

But Megatron didn’t hear him. He made good his escape instead as the crowd of excited Autobots reached Prime’s position and overwhelmed him. Sideswipe knocked the unsteady Prime flat on his back plates in an over-enthusiastic tackle-hug, and moments later Prime completely disappeared under an avalanche of exuberant Autobots.

“Git off him!” A strong-looking red Autobot burst onto the scene, hauling and throwing the joyful mechs off the Prime.

 _Ironhide,_ Megatron recognized him as he reached the edge of audial range.

The Dinobots didn’t even pause.

Megatron hit top speed in tank mode as a familiar red and white mech waded into the fray, shouting orders and waving a wrench around menacingly, and he was relieved to see Ratchet taking charge. Prime was most certainly in very good servos and the sight did Megatron’s spark no small amount of good.

Meanwhile, the Dinobots blasted past Prime without even a greeting, hell bent on catching up to the fleeing Slagbringer, intending to rain burning, flaming Dinobot justice upon the vile monster-tyrant.

Behind him and gaining speed, Grimlock roared in a hate-filled rage. “Me Grimlock! SMASH!”

Seconds later Megatron was relieved when the timer countdown ended. He transformed back into root mode just as the shimmer brought him back to the Lost Light’s engine room, all without a scratch.

_Mission accomplished._

Megatron gave himself a moment to feel elation for a job well done and let out a deep, spark felt sigh of relief.

After a few long moments he left the engine room, heading back to his quarters. He received a hero’s welcome home in the form of wary side-optics and resentful glares from his crew as he walked back towards his quarters.

_Perfect._

…Now if only his servos would stop shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There is a short story covering what happened to Prime after he was returned, called [ Recuperation ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10776648/chapters/24351804) in my short story collection.


	3. No Good Deed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which IDW Optimus Prime sees a disturbing recording and travels to the Lost Light to get to the bottom of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings needed for this one, other then angst and my random attempts at humor. :P This chapter tried to kill me. It was so hard trying to keep these two in character and not try to weave smut in there. :P
> 
> Happy ending as promised. :)

Megatron strode back to his quarters directly after returning to the Lost Light. His spark still pulsed unhappily within him, churning almost painfully, but he ignored the uncomfortable sensations.

Once safely inside he allowed a small smile to cross his face plates, thinking of how the silver tyrant was going to respond when he discovered Prime was missing. _You were so proud of your cruelty, boasting and swaggering before me with your pathetic mockery of victory. Do you see now how your malevolence has bit you in the aft?_

Now Prime was free. _Hopefully he will stop being so damned merciful, especially the next time he and my counterpart meet in battle. It is a reckoning long in the coming. The madmech deserves everything that will come to him.  
_

Megatron felt a surge of satisfaction for thwarting his alternate, though tempered with unease when he recalled the dark laugh. But retaliation from the silver tyrant seemed unlikely at this point. Megatron had dumped the portal device directly into the blast furnace shortly after returning. The Lost Light had warp-jumped not even breems ago, and so his alternate should no longer have the ability to find their reality.

A crunching sound beneath his pede interrupted Megatron's triumphant smile. He looked down, startled by the feel of crushing material. He blinked as he recognized the items: the collar and leash he'd left on the floor.

He stared at them where they lay beneath his pede, his mouth a thin, thin line. Then he reached down with hesitant servos. Picking them up, he turned the vile items over in his fingers. They were custom made; turbofox skin and black metal lacing. His fuel tank lurched. He shook his helm and subspaced them to dispose of later.

Next he destroyed the vile data disk, taking no small amount of satisfaction in obliterating all evidence of his alternate’s unimaginable cruelty from his reality, including the disk itself. It was a cathartic moment for him; crushing that little disk flat and pulverizing it into shards.

Then he spent several hours scrubbing himself and the shower with burning hot fluid. The evidence washed away, and yet the images and recordings played insistently across his processor from his memory files. The lurid scent of his alternate still lingered in the room as a reminder even as he tried and tried to put Prime out of his mind.

The anxiety for the physical contact he endured also refused to leave him. The blasts of suffering and wild emotion through his neural net had deeply disturbed his spark, and it pulsed oddly in his chest. He wasn’t responsible and he _knew_ that, but the hate and shame and anguish that had twisted through his body from Prime’s fields had been so powerful.

The knowledge of his own innocence didn’t stop him from feeling confused and guilty and he struggled to find peace as his spark remained irrational over the matter. His mind insisted on reliving the events of the previous cycle, worrying over the details, but he pushed the memories away.

_I am finished with this ... there is nothing left but to forget._

 

* * *

 

Ravage returned to Megatron’s quarters that evening.

All seemed in order, but there was something very unhappy lurking in Ravage's optics. The panther sniffed at the room suspiciously for long moments. His tail lashed back and forth, and it was obvious he didn't like the lingering scents in the air.

“What is that smell?”

“Smell?” Megatron murmured. He was watching Ravage with an equally wary gaze. He completely understood the way Ravage was feeling, but didn’t answer the question. His tone wasn’t really denying anything, but more a question in return. _What do you think happened here?_

Ravage hissed at him then, recognizing his verbal parrying. “It smells like Prime was here,” he insisted. “I can smell Prime and something else. It smells _bad_ in here. Something bad _happened_ in here. You smell … you smell like _hurting_.”

“I am fine, Ravage.”

But Ravage wasn’t accepting that, and he was unwilling to just let this drop. His acute sense of smell read Megatron like a bookfile and he didn’t like what was written there.

“Tell me what happened here,” Ravage pleaded with him. “I don’t understand.”

Megatron sat down on the berth, feeling a thousand-thousand times heavier. Then his nasal sensor wrinkled as he realized where the unpleasant scent was still emanating from. _I will have to scrub this down as well,_ and then he sighed when Ravage hissed at him again.

“Clearly I am fine.” Megatron spread his arms wide, palms upward in an exasperated display. “Nothing happened of any real import. I need you to let this go.”

Ravage stepped a few paces towards him. “You are injured.”

“A few scratches,” Megatron scoffed. “Nothing to be concerned over.”

“Too late ... I _am_ concerned.”

“Magnus already checked on me,” Megatron rumbled, losing patience with the conversation. “I advised him I fell down a maintenance shaft … there is nothing to be concerned over.”

Ravage snarled. “You _advised_ him that, but that is not what happened.” He'd easily picked up on the sloppy lie as there was no conning a ‘con. That his former leader sounded too mentally drained to bother to lie convincingly was only further evidence that something was wrong.

But right at that moment Megatron’s comm pinged for a message received. He snatched at the opportunity and used the distraction to his full advantage. Standing up, he stepped away from Ravage, turning his back to the panther.

 _I grow tired of this conversation,_ Megatron's dismissive back plates conveyed. _Let it go._

Two small data-files have been sent from Ultra Magnus along with a short message (containing impeccable grammar, another excellent trait) requesting that he complete the accidental injury form as well. Both forms were now waiting in his inbox and amusement curled in him for the memory of Magnus happily limping away from his door.

The memory-file and thoughts of Magnus relaxed him and he returned to his place on the berth. He firmly ignored all further attempts by Ravage to engage him regarding what had happened.

Ravage didn’t look happy, but he said nothing more.

 

* * *

 

Life went on aboard the Lost Light.

Days passed and Megatron coped with his anxiety by drowning himself in his duties. Fortunately he had no end of those. He took things day by day, but his uneasiness remained, as did the odd pulsing of his spark.

Megatron frequently thought of Prime. He often wondered how the mech was doing, how he was coping. He was certain the first few days of freedom would have been rough. He had merely _witnessed_ the recordings and dealt with the aftermath of Prime’s captivity, but even he was having trouble getting his own frame to cycle down. Actually suffering through such a thing ... it was unimaginable.

 _How do you recover from something like that_? He found himself returning to that question again and again. It grieved him that Prime would have to answer that question because of his counterpart.

On the third cycle after the rescue his spark was still churning and Megatron grew worried. Little wisps of energy even escaped his chest plates at times for the violence of the thrashing ball of light inside. He realized with dismay that he would actually need to report to the Medbay for spark palpitations.

He still felt embarrassed for his frame’s instinctive, distressed reactions. It seemed to him that he shouldn't be so unsettled. He'd merely helped piece alternate Prime back together over a single cycle ... but days later and he _still_ wasn’t back to normal.

It felt _weak._

Megatron delayed for another full shift, but he finally mentioned his discomfort when he picked up his next ration of tainted fuel from the Medbay.

“I seem to have some sort of spark pain,” Megatron admitted to the new Chief Medical Officer. He forced himself not to hunch his shoulders or curl inward. As distressed was he was feeling, he also felt strangely threatened by the mech looking him over. He didn’t want anyone near his spark, but putting this off was no longer an option.

First Aid grimaced behind his face shield and motioned him to a medical berth. “Sit down.” He was firm and to the point, but Megatron could hear the distaste hidden beneath the words.

_He is still hurting for the loss of Ambulon and continues to hold me responsible._

Ambulon had been First Aid’s friend when he was stationed at the Delphi medical facility. The ex-Decepticon had spoken of the cruelties he had endured during the Decepticon combiner experiments he had been forced to participate in, and Megatron had been responsible for commissioning the research. Ambulon’s brutal death at the hands of Pharma had shaken First Aid, and he deeply missed his lost friend. Helping the mech that was responsible for so much suffering was galling.

However his feelings towards his patient, it was to First Aid’s credit that he remained entirely professional as Megatron followed his instructions and endured the invasive spark scans and prodding.

“When did this start?” First Aid poked around with a scanning tool and then tapped his patient’s medical panel.

Megatron obediently retracted his protective cover. “I fell down a maintenance shaft four cycles ago.” He decided to stick with that lie as it was now a matter of record, due to the accidental injury form he had completed per Ultra Magnus’ request.

Megatron’s optics narrowed when the panel on First Aid’s pelvic region parted and a prehensile medical cable extended. It was entirely innocent but Megatron was startled by the intense revulsion that flooded through him when the medic plugged into his medical port.

Thankfully First Aid didn’t notice.

The new Chief Medical Officer frowned at him again. “You waited that long to mention this?” He asked as his optics focused inwardly at the readouts in his internal medical HUD. His patient’s spark was really thrashing now, and the medic was getting some very interesting readings.

Megatron looked away. “I was hoping it would resolve itself.”

“Humph. That’s odd.” First Aid studied his readouts as Megatron looked back at him questioningly. “You have a very strong flux in your spark’s inner radial symmetry,” First Aid muttered. “It reminds me of the after effect of exposure to those miserable L-class bombs you dropped on us mid-war.”

First Aid clamped down on his vocalizer when he realized his loathing of his patient was escaping into his tone. “The converted spark bombs,” he clarified, “though I have no idea how you could have been exposed to that much raw spark energy in such a particular way.”

“I see.” Megatron grimaced and looked away. He knew exactly how and why he had been exposed.

 _I didn’t have protection from whatever that electromagnetic field was. I received a strong dose from Prime when he…embraced…me for joors. Direct spark contact may not be damaging, but that projecting field wasn’t merely an extension of Prime’s spark._ _Doubtful he intended to harm me… but this is most uncomfortable._

“There isn’t much I can do for you,” First Aid admitted. “But it should resolve itself within a few deca-cycles, if the damage follows conventional healing patterns. Get plenty of rest, and let me know if you have trouble recharging. I will prescribe you an inhibitor patch.”

“Very well.”

There were far more tests that could have been done, more help that could have been provided, but as his distasteful patient was hardly on death’s door First Aid was quick to send him toward the exit.

The medic clearly wanted him gone and Megatron left as quickly as possible.

However much he was hated by the new medical staff, he still felt better for the visit. He was more confident now that he knew there was something medically wrong with him. It was comforting to know that his miserable spark was not merely a result of him being unsettled and weak-minded. He allowed himself to slow down as he walked through the corridors and decided not to go back for the prescription as a point of pride.

 _I am not so incapacitated and this little after effect_ _is not insurmountable._ All things considered, it was an acceptable price for the satisfaction of alternate Prime’s freedom _and_ the preservation of his secret.

His pede steps lighter, he headed off to fulfill his duties even as his spark continued its bitter protestations in his chest.

 

* * *

 

Megatron was standing in the lift to the command deck a few cycles later when the first whiteout overwhelmed him.

 _How strange_ … _why do the lights look so bright…?_

The normal lighting of the lift above him seemed more vivid, growing steadily brighter as his spark hummed oddly within him. He gasped softly when a deep relaxation befell him. Moments later his optical sensors stopped perceiving data and his visual field went white.

Not the stark color of an empty visual feed, but the true color white…all the colors in the spectrum brilliantly exploding into his sight all at once. The radiance overwhelmed him and he relaxed as all anxiety and pain faded away. Waves of euphoria soothed him along with soft undulating sounds, like the break of waves on a beach.

Megatron remained motionless for several long moments and then unhappy reality roared back. His spark leapt within him and began to churn again, and he realized he was leaning heavily against the wall.

He hesitated and considered going to the Medbay…but he really didn’t want to risk having to answer more questions, and the sensation had been more pleasant than anything else. He decided to interpret the strange interlude as a sign that his spark was recovering and chose not to worry about it.

When the lift arrived at the command deck he cautiously stepped out onto the bridge and strode towards the command chair to take his shift as captain. Ultra Magnus immediately vacated the command chair for him and stepped to the side.

“Anything to report?” Megatron asked, still feeling off balance.

“All quiet, for once.” Ultra Magnus didn’t seem to notice his disquiet. “All of the usual suspects are currently at movie night. Rodimus is hosting and apparently it’s packed tonight.”

“Excellent,” Megatron rumbled as he sat down. _At least I don’t have to worry about Rodimus and his infernal antics this evening._

He had never been invited to any of the crew’s little get-togethers, not that he would be willing to attend now even if they offered. His mind tried to replay for him the painfully miserable experience at ‘Visages’ after he had foolishly let Swerve convince him to attempt a poetry reading, and he violently shoved that memory file away.

“Captain? Are you alright?” Ultra Magnus startled him out of his unhappy musings.

Megatron looked up at him in confusion and then back down, following Magnus’ concerned gaze. His fingers wrapped around the data pad were twitching irregularly. He frowned at them and the twitching stopped as he forced his servos into stillness.

“I am fine,” Megatron muttered. “Just a mild spark disruption from my accident. First Aid has already examined me and I am cleared for duty. It is nothing to be concerned over.”

Ultra Magnus hesitated for a long moment and then stepped a little closer, a few microns nearer then professional concern should warrant.

Megatron noted the other mech’s movements and the very subtle sentiment behind them. He looked up at Magnus, quirking his lip plating a bare fraction in question, but the stoic mech stood his ground for a long moment as the rock and the hard place eyed each other contemplatively.

“Perfectly fine,” Megatron repeated as his optics dropped back to his data pad and he made no attempt to push the other mech away, either verbally or otherwise.

Ultra Magnus nodded his helm then and dropped the matter, thankfully. The second-in-command retired to his office to file paperwork not long after, leaving Megatron alone to read over the latest reports.

He was surprised to see Blaster’s report that Ratchet had recently contacted the ship, confirming he was on route with Deadlock… _Drift_ , he corrected himself. The ex-Decepticon’s name was Drift now.

_That will be interesting._

Megatron was relieved that as Decepticon leader he had never had the time to personally look into Drift’s defection or otherwise antagonize or harass him too bitterly.

He understood the defector’s point of view a little better, and hopefully the ex-Decepticon wouldn’t give him too many problems. He was finally getting back to where he had been before his alternate had arrived (mechs were no longer ducking into side corridors at his approach and the hateful glares had eased off by several notches) and he didn’t want any unnecessary trouble.

Thumbing through the next few reports, Megatron rubbed at his miserable spark absentmindedly while enjoying Ultra Magnus’ subtle dry wit and perfect grammar.

 

* * *

 

The white, as Megatron was starting to call the sensory overloads, continued to overtake him periodically. It hit randomly but the duration was short and so far no one had noticed. The pain in his spark was easing a little more every day. Eventually it would be gone and hopefully the white with it.

That seemed to be the end of his troubles…

…so when Megatron received a request to come to the conference room a few weeks later he thought nothing of it. He confidently strode into the small room to find Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Thunderclash, and First Aid already assembled.

“Megs!” His co-captain greeted him cheerfully, one leg dangling over his chair arm. “You are going to _love_ this one!” The flashy-looking mech certainly looked to be in his element as his confident, easy-going nature allowed him to roll with the frequent outbreaks of insanity that plagued the Lost Light.

Half the time it seemed like he _enjoyed_ the madness.

“Stop calling me that,” Megatron demanded for the umpteenth time. “You will address me as either Megatron or co-captain. Pick one and _use it_.”

Thunderclash was getting used to the continuous bickering and ignored the two captain’s constant sniping. He greeted Megatron with an entirely appropriate “Captain,” along with a dutiful nod of his helm.

First Aid was seated next to him and staring at Thunderclash with open admiration, which Thunderclash was politely ignoring. His honest humility even in the face of constant hero worship kept him from grating too much on Megatron’s plating.

Thunderclash was a recent addition to the ship, having only been functional for a few weeks after coming out of his coma. Not surprisingly, his vast experience in deep space exploration (and everything else) had already earned him a place in the emergency command huddles they found themselves having every few days.

Megatron could not find a single negative thing to say about the mech so far. He was keenly intelligent with impeccable manners and a firm handshake and best of all, he routinely drove Rodimus wild with jealousy.

That last point was an _especially_ positive mark in Megatron’s estimation.

“-what about ‘mighty Megatron’ or ‘glorious co-lea-”

Megatron interrupted Rodimus before he could really get started. “Absolutely not.” He walked towards an empty chair across from Thunderclash. It was suitably distant from the other mechs as he was still skittish for any sort of physical contact. Ever since the rescue he kept as far away from others as he could without drawing attention to himself.

Thunderclash was watching him intently, clearly uncomfortable. He had a small frown on his handsome face plates and his fingers drummed on the table as he waited.

Ultra Magnus also looked concerned. He inclined his helm a fraction and Megatron returned his gaze with a respectful flash of his optics and a questioning look. He wasn’t pleased when the other’s lip plating tightened into a firm line; a clear indication that something was wrong.

Rodimus looked disappointed. “But you let _Starscream_ call you-”

“Starscream is a pit-spawned glitch,” Megatron snapped, “possessing a two-bit processor entirely unfit for even a sanitation drone. I simply grew tired of correcting him to no effect. You have _twice_ his processor capacity and thus I expect more from you.”

“Hey now,” Rodimus jabbed a finger at his co-captain furiously, “That was an insult!”

“Gentle-mechs,” Thunderclash interrupted courteously, “as we are all assembled I would like to get started.”

Ultra Magnus rapped his data-file sharply against the table, effectively cutting off Rodimus’ next attempt to snipe at Megatron. “We are missing one mech still.”

Thunderclash shook his helm. “He will be here shortly and is already aware of the situation. We should get started.” He turned a penetrative gaze on Megatron.

“What sort of apocalyptic situation are we dealing with now?” Megatron asked apprehensively. He could tell by the expressions on his wary comrade’s face plates that whatever it was… he was going to _hate_ it.

 _No doubt some sort of world-shattering scenario involving Rodimus, something improbable, and the end of the known universe._ The solution would be something appallingly debase, he knew, perhaps requiring the entire crew to coat themselves in multicolored pastel paint and hop in place while simultaneously waving traffic cones over their helms.

_Again._

“We received a recording of some concern recently,” Ultra Magnus said. “It appears to involve yourself and… _Prime_.”

_Oh Primus no._

“Oh?” Megatron asked, trying to keep his tone indifferent even as his fuel tanks lurched. He hoped he didn’t look as horrified as he felt. “What sort of recording?”

“It’s probably faked,” Ultra Magnus said while adjusting his data pad. It wasn’t resting exactly perpendicular to the edge of the conference table, and he corrected the oversight with a frown. “But the recording seemed… abusive… in nature, and we needed to confirm with you the authenticity.”

Seemed abusive? _Seemed?_

Ultra Magnus shot him a very subdued, apologetic look.

“Apparently it’s taking Cybertron by storm,” Rodimus cut in gleefully. “They played it on the Iacon News Hub over and over again, all fragging cycle!”

If Megatron had armor that flared, his plates would be _leaping_ off his frame.

Ultra Magnus tapped his data pad and set it down, activating the holo-screen. The recording started instantly. The first few frames were clearly of his bare quarters, as seen through a vent duct. The area of view was very poor, limited by the grating to a straight down view.

_Oh thank Primus._

Megatron was instantly relieved that his worst fear was unrealized, but then grew alarmed all over again. The poor quality recording had been taken while Prime had been frantically attacking him. Though ‘attacking’ was the wrong word for what was happening on the screen. Shown entirely without context, the substandard recording would be more accurately described as Optimus Prime _beating the ever-loving slag_ out of him.

Megatron’s relief quickly turned to annoyance when Rodimus started making sound effects to go along with all the furious punches onscreen as the recording was visual only. Accustomed to such juvenile behavior he just rolled his optics and ignored his irritating co-captain.

 _Whoever recorded this was in the ceiling vent shaft_ , he realized and remembered seeing the vent cover move during Prime’s pitiful attempt to pulverize him into the next cycle. The narrowness of the tiny ceiling vent shortened the list of spies down enormously. In fact, there was only one mech that was skilled enough to move through the tiny passageway without being seen or heard.

_Ravage._

_No wonder he has been acting so anxious. He must have witnessed part of the attack and didn’t understand what he was seeing… we will be having a little chat over this._

“Pow! Oooff! Bam!” Rodimus was too overwhelmed with mirth to notice that the others were frowning at him, all except for First Aid who was desperately covering his intakes to hide his amusement.

“Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus muttered, “This is not an approp-” The comm on his wrist interrupted his protest with a requesting ping. He tapped the line open.

“Yes,” Ultra Magnus answered the mech on the other line. “We are assembled in the conference room. Megatron is already here, we are playing it for him now.”

There was a little burst of static in response and he cocked his helm. “Understood.” He closed his comm line and returned his attention to the proceedings.

“What?” Rodimus finally noticed the disapproval and snorted. “It’s fake! Optimus would never do something like this.” He waved his servo dismissively and sat back in his chair. The grin splitting his face plates didn’t diminish in the slightest as the recording continued.

“Optimus,” Ultra Magnus answered Megatron’s questioning look. “He has taken an interest for obvious reasons and is on his way.”

“Tell him not to bother,” Megatron said, sitting up in concern. Optimus was the last person he wanted to see. “It would be a waste of time and energy. Obviously he is not responsible.”

“I can’t.” Ultra Magnus shrugged. “He just docked a few astro-seconds ago and is already disembarked. He should be here in a breem.”

“A pointless waste of time,” Megatron repeated harshly. “This recording was _clearly_ fabricated as some sort of _tasteless_ prank.”

“Well, obviously!” Rodimus agreed cheerfully. “Whoever made this did a great job. It’s hysterical!”

Megatron leaned back in his chair and clenched his fingers into fists beneath the conference table. _Ridicule is inevitable now_. _It is just a matter of making the coming irritation as sufferable as possible. I would rather them believe I am the butt of a poorly made joke vid then the truth._

Thunderclash studied his reactions attentively and gestured at the recording that was still playing. “This didn’t happen then?”

“Obviously not,” Megatron snapped.

Thunderclash was staring at him suspiciously now. “Are you certain?”

“Of course. Optimus did nothing of the sort-”

Megatron gestured at the monitor and then hesitated. He had to admit that the recording _did_ look bad. Prime’s attacks were (understandably!) filled with hatred and he had let Prime throw him around without any sort of response beyond merely covering his vitals with his arms and servos.

“-nor would I have stood by and willingly accepted such treatment.” He only barely paused, and was able to deliver that particular line convincingly as it was entirely true.

The door swished open as Optimus Prime arrived a moment later.

“Thank you for meeting with me so quickly,” the blue and red mech said, his strong rumble filling the room as he strode towards the conference table. The others greeted him cheerfully as Thunderclash stood and clasped Optimus’ forearm in earnest and respectful camaraderie.

Thunderclash’s greeting was filled with sympathy. “I can imagine this has been an exasperating cycle for you.”

“You have no idea,” Optimus rumbled tiredly as he took a seat near Megatron. It had been one hell of a cycle, and he was ready for it to end. He made eye contact with Megatron, his gaze intense.

 _I’m not happy,_ his face plates said.

“Prime,” Megatron murmured quietly in greeting. He kept tight control of his face plates, even as his spark lurched within him. _This may have affected me more than I thought,_ he realized as he tried and failed to clear his processor of images of frames entwined obscenely, his alternate’s spike brutally stabbing into Prime’s horrifying ports, splattering pink fluid, and the haunted look on Prime’s face plates.

Megatron felt a flash of anxiety and didn’t meet Optimus’ optics. Fortunately the vibrantly healthy blue and red mech didn’t notice as Thunderclash immediately started the meeting.

“Optimus, this recording is rather disturbing-”

“I share your concern,” Optimus interrupted him earnestly. “But I did not commit such an act. This,” he gestured unhappily towards the screen, “has been forged and released to the public for some unknown reason.”

“What do you _mean_ unknown reason?” Rodimus said, whilst cheerfully drumming his fingers on the table. “It’s fan service! Why do you think they keep playing it? ”

“I do not appreciate being cast in this light,” and Optimus frowned at Rodimus, disliking his cavalier tone. He had enough of that from Starscream (along with a crass gift basket containing various voltages of pain sticks “in case he gets mouthy” gleefully offered with high-pitched laughter) back on Cybertron. “I would never behave in such a manner.”

 _That is not true,_ Megatron thought morosely. _Under certain circumstances Optimus, you most certainly would._

Optimus was clearly relieved when Ultra Magnus repeated Megatron’s confirmation that the recording was a fabrication. “I need you to provide a statement to that effect. This footage has been playing non-stop over the news feeds and my response has not been enough to calm this situation down.”

“Of course,” Megatron said as he nodded in agreement. He was careful to avoid those stern blue optics. He focused instead on a spot in between Optimus' nasal sensor. It gave the illusion he felt confident.

“Ridiculous.” Optimus muttered to himself in annoyance. He reached out and offered Megatron a small recording device with an attached data disk.

Megatron hesitated, not wanting to touch the other mech. He carefully took the offered item and tapped it. Then he cleared his vocalizer and began speaking firmly and clearly, declaring the recording a fake and that the contents were falsified.

In the meantime, Rodimus had quietly restarted his sound effects, obviously trying to get them into the background of Megatron’s statement.

Optimus rumbled in annoyance. “Rodimus, _please_.” His normally vast stores of patience were already low from Starscream’s constant snide comments back home. His bright optics narrowed and the tone in his voice held no room for argument.

“Sure, fine, whatever you say,” and Rodimus grinned at him, but finally stopped.

When Megatron was finished he set the small device on the table and pushed it towards Optimus and quickly removed his servos.

Thunderclash looked pensive as he watched the exchange.

Megatron cleared his vocalizer. “I suggest that we consider this resolved and return to our duties.” He was beyond relieved that this situation seemed to be solving itself. He could handle the annoyance of being teased over a fake recording so long as the far more dreadful truth remained concealed.

“Agreed,” Rodimus said, still grinning at the recording.

Optimus began to stand up to take his leave, even as the rest of the mechs around the table murmured in agreement. “I want to thank you for helping me deal with this so quickly.” He directed his statement mainly towards Megatron and the silver mech inclined his helm in response.

Ultra Magnus nodded in reply and then looked down at his data pad. “Since we are all assembled I would like to take a moment to address a problem with-”

“I disagree,” Thunderclash’s respectful but firm voice cut him off. “I am not satisfied that this situation has been appropriately resolved.” He frowned as Optimus gave him a look of surprised disapproval, but didn’t back down.

“Thunderclash,” Megatron snapped in irritation, “there is nothing further to address.” This situation needed to _go away_ so Optimus would _go away_ and he could get back to trying to forget everything that had happened and return to normal functioning.

But Thunderclash merely shook his helm.

“Observe,” he said and tapped the vid screen.

The recording popped forward in time as Thunderclash pointed at several of the blows that Prime inflicted. He noted each hit, and then pointed out the parallel dents that still covered Megatron’s frame. The gouges were very minor and almost healed, but were still there.

They matched _perfectly._

Optimus went still and looked over at Megatron incredulously.

 _Damn you_ , Megatron scowled at Thunderclash, realizing he would have to address this after all. _Best to work with the lies already in place…fortunately they have no real proof of anything beyond this questionable recording._

“My statement is accurate as provided,” Megatron said firmly. “I received these injuries during a recent accident. I have already filled out the appropriate forms and visited the Medbay. Any injuries that coincide with this fabrication,” he gestured to the screen dismissively, “are mere coincidence.”

Thunderclash frowned at Megatron as the evidence clearly pointed to an entirely different explanation. The jovial attitudes of his fellow Autobots around him grated harshly against his unerring sense of justice, but if the injured party insisted on denying the grievance then there was nothing he could do about it.

Still, he wasn’t one to give up easily.

“ _Abuse_ is never acceptable,” Thunderclash insisted earnestly, “for any reason.” His firm declaration and the harsh cant of his helm cut though the general confusion in the room, reminding the other Autobots of what the recording actually represented, something easy to ignore when the apparent victim was so universally disliked.

All of them were frowning now, even Rodimus, who was very irritated at having been effectively _chastised_ by the Greatest Autobot That Ever Lived.

On the silent recording still playing, the mech in question had stopped moving entirely and was pressed into the wall. Prime’s battered form and traumatized expression couldn’t be seen from the vent’s angle, but Megatron’s expression was very evident. Helm down to protect his face plates, frame curled up defensively and entirely submissive, it was obvious he was avoiding looking up at his attacker while enduring the assault with clenched denta.

Megatron scowled in irritation, frustrated beyond words at how twisted around this situation was looking to the others, but there was no way in the pit he would or _could_ explain this to anyone’s satisfaction without admitting _very_ damning details. Instead, he reached out and shut off the recording with a slap of his palm and stayed the course.

“Optimus,” Megatron snapped, “You and I both know this recording is a fabrication. I have already provided what you need to defuse this situation back on Cybertron.”

“I question that,” Optimus said, disturbed. “You are in Autobot custody here. If someone has impersonated me in order to harm you, then an entirely unacceptable incident has occurred here. It must be addressed before I can leave.”

“It would explain a great deal,” Thunderclash said thoughtfully. “You claimed you wouldn’t have tolerated such an attack under normal circumstances. But Optimus Prime has been appointed as chief justice over your case and has direct control over your freedom of movement. It would stand to reason that someone abusing Optimus’ authority over you would result in a response like this.”

Optimus’ optics narrowed furiously at the thought.

“I assure you,” Megatron said determinedly, “nothing unacceptable has occurred. This recording is someone’s poor attempt at a joke, and I _resent_ that I must defend myself against such allegations.”

Optimus held his gaze for a long moment, slowly coming to realize that Megatron wasn't actually... _looking_ at him.

Odd, but he sounded sincere...

“I have no choice but to accept your version of events,” Optimus finally agreed, reaching out a hand to clap Megatron supportively on his shoulder. “But if you need any assistance please let-”

Optimus froze when Megatron flinched for his reach.

The barely visible reaction was an uncontrollable reflection of the deep distress he still felt over the physical contact he had endured, a reaction from the unbidden memory-file behind his optics of Prime wrapping his battered frame around him and clinging to his frame. The response was extremely subdued, missed by almost everyone watching. But the reaction was perfectly clear to Optimus, who knew Megatron better than most.

From across the table, Ultra Magnus also frowned.

Megatron cursed himself for the instinctive reaction as Optimus leaned back, _stunned_ for the implications. Optimus’ mouth tightened into a firm line behind his concealing battle mask. At his sides, his servos clenched into fists.

“This recording is faked,” Megatron insisted harshly, "and I have nothing further to add.” No one was going to get the truth out of him. He would never admit it. He would take it with him to the _smelter_.

Inside his chest, his spark thrashed and thrashed as the others reluctantly got to their pedes as the meeting ended, the situation seemingly resolved, and yet not.

Optimus finally left the conference room with a huff after trying and failing to get Megatron to open up and talk to him.

“I already answered your questions!” Megatron growled insistently after the furious and currently retreating blue and red back plates.

Optimus’ furiously grumbled “I can’t _believe_ this!” trailed off as the door closed after him.

 _This will all blow over in a few days,_ Megatron assured himself while nervously clenching his fists. There was always another world-ending disaster on the horizon, and soon they would all forget about this little situation.

He remained in his chair as his spark was humming and the overhead lights seemed very bright. It was a warning of what was coming, and moments later the white claimed him again. He laid his helm down on the table and vented softly as he lost his grip on reality, overwhelmed with euphoric peace.

 

* * *

 

Megatron was startled to see Ultra Magnus waiting for him outside the conference room when he finally took his leave, each pede step carefully placed as he was still unsteady from the whiteout.

“Megatron,” Ultra Magnus greeted him, stepping close but not _too_ close. He was careful to keep the space between them just near enough to convey concern but also far enough apart to maintain appropriate and respectful personal space boundaries, in light of Megatron’s reaction to physical touch.

“Ultra Magnus,” he answered, noting the clear gesture of respect and that Magnus pointedly did not offer his hand. He found himself relaxing a notch, trusting the other not to do anything unexpected.

“I just wanted to say…” Magnus hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “If I can be of any assistance, please let me know.”

Megatron opened his mouth to insist he was fine, and then abruptly closed it. He was _not_ fine, apparently. “Thank you,” he finally answered. “I will.”

Ultra Magnus inclined his head, watched Megatron for exactly one micron longer than necessary for politeness – _I am worried about you_ – and then strode stately away, trusting Megatron to keep his word.

Megatron watched him go, fingers clenching, wishing he could take that offer.

 

* * *

 

“Ravage.”

Megatron addressed the empty room firmly and moments later the cat slinked into view after disengaging his attention deflectors, the same ones that had concealed him while taking the recording of Megatron and Prime.

“I’m sorry,” the cat mumbled, every line of his sleek frame drooped in apology.

“Why-”

“I just wanted to check on you,” Ravage cried out defensively. “You were upset and you wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. I saw what he did and I didn’t know what to do! So I sent the recording to Soundwave and asked him for help.”

Megatron looked furious. “You contacted _Soundwave_ about this?”

“I didn’t think he would release it!” The panther was clearly upset, his tail lashing furiously. “He ordered me to return, and when I refused, he cut contact with me.”

“And then he released the recording,” Megatron muttered, “to damage Optimus’ reputation and drum up further support for his commune.”

“Apparently.” The cat said, unhappily.

Ravage had been distraught when he had seen the recording playing in Swerve’s bar, much to the amusement of the patrons there. He knew his carrier was extremely upset over his former leader’s betrayal and was irritated even further that Ravage was staying with him for the time being, but he hadn’t thought Soundwave would do something like this.

“I didn’t mean to make trouble for you.” Ravage sounded perfectly miserable.

Megatron pinched the bridge of his nasal sensor. “Just forget about it.” _There is nothing to be done now. Ravage is my only true ally and there is no sense in alienating him further. I need him and can’t allow any further fallout from this._

“You still haven’t-”

“And I don’t intend to.” Megatron said, already finished with the conversation. “This was a one-time situation and it is _over._ You have caused me enough trouble over this and you _will_ drop it. I will hear not one more word on this subject.”

Ravage dropped his head and did as instructed.

Megatron sighed, feeling bad as he watched the dejected cat silently pad his way to his customary spot under the berth and settle down for the evening. It was amazing to him how much trouble one little rescue could bring.

 _I will make this up to you later,_ Megatron silently promised the panther as he eased himself down on the berth to get some recharge.

 

* * *

 

The next few days were a complete disaster.

The recording made the rounds throughout the Lost Light, most certainly shared with everyone by Rodimus, although to be fair it would have been discovered by the crew eventually.

The Autobots were wildly entertained, none more so then Getaway and Atomizer, but there wasn’t a vocalizer among the general crew that didn’t register amusement for the Decepticon ex-leader getting what was coming to him.

No one was fool enough to play the recording when Optimus Prime, Thunderclash, or Ultra Magnus were within visual range, but whenever the more upstanding members of command weren’t around then it could be seen playing over various vid screens, intercoms and external HUDs.

Megatron ignored it, along with all of the snickers, mimed punches, and mock cowering the crew teased him with every time he passed any of the braver Autobots.

But the worst of it was that Optimus postponed his return to Cybertron for a few cycles. He was conducting his own investigation into the attack, though he was having no luck what-so-ever tracking down who was responsible.

Optimus finally ambushed Megatron in the corridor after stalking him for several joors. “We need to talk,” he rumbled and stepped in close.

“We have nothing further to discuss,” Megatron assured him and tried to walk away.

Optimus frowned and stepped closer, cutting the other mech off. "Megatron," he said, trying to work past the wall that has suddenly been rebuilt between them. "I don't agree. Something is clearly wrong."

Optimus watched as Megatron frowned back at him, and he realized that the other was _still_ not meeting his optics, not really. He stepped even closer, well past the point of propriety, but they had known each other for millions of years, and such long association was unto itself a form of intimacy.

Optimus reached out his hand and offered it to the other mech. "Let me help you set things right."

Megatron backed away, but he didn’t flinch this time, holding his ground. “I gave you what you needed,” he hissed, the other mech mere inches from his face, but he still didn't meet the intense blue optics. “We both know that I can expect attention from mechs who have an axe to grind, and I am handling that. It is part of the process and I need you to _back off_.”

“That may be true,” Optimus said angrily, “but not while wearing _my_ face plates. I need to know what happened and who is responsible.”

Megatron broke away then, as the lights were getting brighter, and his spark was starting to hum in his chest, a sure sign the white was coming.

Optimus called after him, frustrated. “I _will_ be getting to the bottom of this.”

Megatron paused and looked back at him, still not meeting his frustrated optics. He sighed and then waved his servo dismissively at Optimus and continued down the hall. He had only barely turned the corner when the euphoria overwhelmed him.

The white was more frequent now, a potent reminder of what _happy_ felt like. It was becoming a welcome lull in the pain of his throbbing spark, and he remained confident that he was recovering as the chest ache was dulling even as it overwhelmed him more and more frequently.

While relaxing into it, he felt as if he was floating in a wash of color so brilliant that all his optics could perceive was gloriously bright light. A profound sense of peace filled him and he moaned in relief as pain and anxiety left his frame, fleeing from the light.

It was deeply comforting.

“…Megatron?”

Ratchet’s voice was _far_ less comforting.

He was almost disappointed when the peace began to fade and Ratchet’s perpetually grumpy face plates came into view. The rest of the medic followed, sharpening into his reality. His visual sensors focused unsteadily on the other mech as his euphoric state fully faded.

Ratchet approached warily as Megatron blinked several times, rebooting his audio/visual sensors and reluctantly embracing his less than pleasant reality.

“Are you alright?”

The medic’s question was reluctantly asked as Ratchet deeply disliked Megatron. The medic had recently returned from his sojourn from the ship, and this was the first time they had laid optics on each other since Ratchet had left.

“Yes,” Megatron waved away the medic’s professional concern. “I was merely lost in thought.”

Ratchet frowned at him as his keen optics swept over the other frame. His own snap diagnosis differed, but Megatron merely turned his back plates to the other mech and continued down the corridor towards his quarters.

“Megatron,” Ratchet called after him (he was far too much of a professional to let personal feelings get in the way of caring for a patient). “I checked over the medical logs. Your file shows you were complaining about spark palpitations. I should have a look at you.”

Megatron winced and waved his servos dismissively at the medic. He was not going to submit to more poking and prodding then he had to. “I reported to the Medbay for those symptoms previously. First Aid already looked into-”

“-and I couldn’t care less,” Ratchet interrupted him grumpily. “I have more experience with spark injuries.”

First Aid was still officially the Chief Medical Officer of the Lost Light, but now that Ratchet had returned the two medics were busy tripping over each other in the Medbay, struggling to work out a happy balance. Their little fuss-fight over who did what in the Medbay had only recently devolved into fighting over patients.

 _Apparently even the less savory ones_ , Megatron frowned ruefully. _I’m not touching that little inter-personal battle with a ten-kilk pole._

“I am satisfied with his diagnosis,” Megatron protested, “and I have been following his recommendations. I see no need for further-”

Ratchet wasn’t having any of it. “I don’t give a turbo-rat’s _aft_ what you think about it, _captain_. You get your skid plate down to-”

“Hey Ratch!” Blaster came around the corner, interrupting Ratchet’s cantankerous threatening as he cheerfully greeted the returned medic. “Long time no see, my mech!”

“Hello Blaster-”

Drift was walking alongside the enthusiastic communications officer and slid to a stop when he caught sight of Megatron standing in the corridor. Their optics met for the first time in vorns; Drift’s now blue, Megatron’s still a brilliant red, the same color as the new sigil on his chest plates. The swords-mech stared at the symbol and then strode forward with purpose as Megatron watched his approach with apprehension.

He was right to be worried, but for all the wrong reasons.

Deadlock… _Drift_ launched himself the last few feet at his old leader and enveloped him in a massive hug. “I am so proud of you,” he said as Megatron stiffened in panic for the contact.

_What was with this ship and all the touching?!_

“You did the right thing,” Drift’s face plates were filled with happiness. “I know how hard it is to start over,” he told Megatron supportively while being _way_ too close for comfort. “We have so much in common now!”

Ratchet snorted in disapproval. “You are nothing like him.” Megatron frowned as the medic made a disparaging motion towards him.

Drift looked in Ratchet’s direction reproachfully as he released Megatron and shook his helm. He intentionally ignored the negative comment, and instead of answering he took a moment to stare intently at the medic. He started humming while sending positive energy in Ratchet’s direction to counter the negative wavelengths being emitted by his ill-tempered friend.

Ratchet snorted again, confident that his grumping could not be so easily defeated. “Did you talk to Rodimus like I suggested?” he asked, changing the subject.

Drift’s smile disappeared instantly at the mention of Rodimus, replaced by melancholy.

Rodimus should have been thrilled for the return of his closest supporter, but he was still feeling guilty for letting Drift take the full blame for the whole Overlord fiasco and coldly banishing him from the Lost Light.

Drift felt awkward because Rodimus was acting awkward and thus the two mechs were currently trying to avoid each other due to exponential amounts of awkwardness. But from the way they kept stumbling over each other in the corridors absolutely _everyone_ knew it was just a matter of time before Rodimus and Drift were thick as thieves again.

“No, he keeps trying to avoid me in the corridors.” Drift’s vocalizer dropped until his voice matched his dejected face plates. “I tried to talk to him in the lift but he pretended his vocalizer was shorting out-”

Megatron took the opportunity to slink away.

 

* * *

 

Ratchet tried a few more times to get him into the Medbay, but Megatron managed to avoid the medic. He only left his quarters to fulfill his duties. He often found himself sticking to the outer halls while trying to avoid both Optimus and the more annoying members of the crew, if only to maintain his own sanity.

Apparently someone else was making use of the outer corridors in the same way, though not for the same reason.

“Look out! Coming through!”

This time Megatron was prepared for who came hurtling around the corner. Tailgate twisted sharply but when it became clear that he wasn’t going to complete the turn in time, Megatron reached out a split second before impact and pulled the mini-bot back by the scruff of the neck.

The hover-board crashed and rolled down the corridor as Megatron immediately placed the little mech safely on his pedes and stepped away.

“Oh hey, thanks!” Tailgate said, then stopped and stared up at him, clearly about to ask him something.

Megatron didn’t like the contemplative look on the mini-bot’s face plates and he wasn’t in the mood to chat, and so he turned to continue down the corridor without an answer. But Tailgate's next words brought him to a grinding halt.

“I saw the recording,” Tailgate called out to his back plates. Megatron turned his helm back a fraction in concern as the mini-bot started to chatter at him.

“Right before crazy-Megs left he said he won the war and defeated the Autobots. Then he gave you that disk and insulted your spinal strut. And then you had that tarp with you the next cycle… and it was moving.”

Tailgate shifted his weight on his pedes in excitement, clearly having expended a great deal of thought over the matter. “ _He_ was in the tarp, wasn’t he? You _rescued_ him, didn’t you? You rescued the other universe’s Optimus Prime!”

Megatron tensed up, his fists curling tightly in horror. “That is more unsubstantiated rumor,” he hissed harshly, “and I insist that you not spread it!”

“I won’t,” Tailgate promised while throwing his servos up in mock surrender. The little mech was far from intimidated however, as he was accustomed to large, powerful Decepticon-ish mechs grumbling and threatening him from on high. He looked very pleased in fact, as the response sounded an awful lot like _don’t you dare tell anybody_ and as far as he was concerned that was clear confirmation that his guess was right.

Tailgate’s bright visor flashed with delight for a moment, and then dimmed a bit as the next question passed his lip plating. “But if you saved him… then why did he attack you?”

Megatron swallowed apprehensively.

 _There is no point in denying it now. I am better off if he is sympathetic and I can convince him to keep my secret._ _Otherwise he will likely run his vocalizer with his theories to everyone in range. As soon as Tailgate mentions to anyone half-way competent about the tarp and my trip to the engine room, certain nosy mechs will go looking and will surely discover my tampering with the security logs._

“He _was_ very upset,” Megatron admitted. “He thought I was the other one playing a cruel trick on him.”

“But you weren’t, right?”

“No,” Megatron said firmly. “I hosted him in my quarters so he could refuel and rest for a cycle, and then returned him to his dimension, to his Autobots on Earth. Now when he recovers he can go save his Autobots.”

“That…was very heroic!” Tailgate said, delighted.

“Tailgate,” Megatron murmured as he dropped down to one knee, “I was not authorized to cross to the other universe to rescue Prime. I didn’t have time for pointless meetings and useless distraction, so I went to rescue him without following any proper procedures or protocols.”

 _Not really the end of the world to bend a few rules_ , he thought, but it sounded good.

“I did it because it was the right thing to do, but if discovered my actions will cause trouble for some of our _friends_ , not to mention make Optimus Prime _very_ uncomfortable. I would appreciate your silence in this matter.”

Tailgate considered that for a long moment and then nodded.

Then the mini-bot impulsively reached up and made a sign with his fingers, tracing something into Megatron’s leg plating. It was an old glyph and Megatron recognized it, but for Tailgate it was new (something he had just recently learned from Nautica and had been practicing all day on Cyclonus).

His hands clumsily traced the finger-sign onto the silver plating, a glyph designating friendship and respect. Megatron managed to hold still and not flinch for the light touch and the little bot smiled up at him, a genuine expression.

Slowly and hesitantly, Megatron returned that honest smile.

“Tailgate,” Cyclonus called from further down the hallway. “Where are you?”

Tailgate turned towards the call. “Over here, coming!” he called back, and with another flash of his visor he was gone, charging down the corridor.

Megatron watched him leave, standing in the hallway for a long time, both touched and alarmed.

 _It is all unraveling_ , he thought in growing dismay.

 

* * *

 

A flash of blue and red plating further down the corridor had him instantly ducking back the way he came.

Unfortunately the resulting flash of retreating silver hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Optimus charged down a side corridor and cut him off before he could escape to the safety of his quarters. As his old adversary stepped close, Megatron startled when his back plates hit the wall. He had been unknowingly giving ground while trying to keep a more-than-propriety-requires amount of space between their frames.

“Four million years and I have _never_ seen you react to me like this,” Optimus rumbled at him quietly, deeply upset. “I want things put right between us.”

Optimus intentionally pressed in close, frame almost touching, putting pressure on his old adversary. “Now tell me what _happened_ ,” he demanded, “so that I can help you.”

 _Talk to me,_ his frame whispered.

Megatron frowned back at him, flustered for the intimacy between them and the intense look in the other’s optics. He wasn’t _trying_ to be difficult! He honestly couldn’t help that his spark was still pounding within him and that he was still struggling to settle down. This mech’s attention was too much for him to handle right now. He was careful to keep his fingers unclenched and tried to stay as calm-looking as possible.

He was just about to retort when the repetitive sounds of a frame hitting the wall began echoing down the corridor, startling both mechs out of their intense stand-off.

…Wham! …Wham! …Wham! …Wham!

Megatron started to edge away, intent on using the distraction to his advantage as Optimus stepped forward to investigate what sounded like a fight. But a heavy blue palm smacked the wall next to him an instant later, cutting off his escape route and a _snick_ sound startled him.

Megatron frantically dropped his optics down to the other’s pelvic span at the familiar sound, his razor-sharp denta bared in alarm, but the area remained solid as it was merely part of the truck-former’s kibble; a thickly armored piece of his undercarriage, to be precise.

Optimus had merely retracted his battle mask so that Megatron could see his _very_ unhappy face plates.

Optimus warily followed Megatron’s gaze downward to his lower plating, but just looked back up and blinked at the other’s reaction in confusion. Megatron's telling motion didn’t clue him in as such interactions were as completely foreign to him as they _should be_ to Megatron.

Then both mechs froze in place as agitated voices burst out and echoed down the branch of the nearby corridor.

“Release the negativity!”

“I’m…I’m going to-”

“You must empower your positive energy! Focus!”

Megatron stared down the corridor in bafflement as he recognized the voices. Rodimus he expected to hear in conjunction with such completely ridiculous proclamations, but was that… _Deadlock_?

“-banish your negative energy! You have the power to restore the balance of your aura! Do you feel it?! Do you **feel** the power?!”

Optimus blinked as the enthused spiritually-inspired shouting continued to echo down the corridor from the nearby hallway.

“Can you feel it?!”

“Yes! I _can_ feel it!” Rodimus howled joyfully.

Drift whooped exultantly as the enthusiastic spiritualist ritually whacked Rodimus over the flat of his back with his Great Sword in celebrated life-affirming rhythms while shaking with delight for all the positive energy being restored between him and his dearest friend.

Optimus just stared down the corridor at the two distracted mechs as the ritualistic whacking increased in tempo.

“I don’t…even…” he mumbled.

“There is not a cycle that has passed,” Megatron admitted to him sub-vocally, “that I haven’t considered contacting you to be thrown back in that quiet little cell on Cybertron.”

Optimus shook his helm with a muttered “Vector sigma,” and grabbed ahold of Megatron firmly, unwilling to end their conversation.

Optimus pulled on his reluctant adversary and began to carefully edge away as the enthusiastic howling and whacking continued. Coaxing Megatron to follow behind him, he suddenly paused as his internal text comms lit up with a request for him to come to the conference room, immediately.

Behind them, Rodimus’ vocalizer rose in a victory howl as he got the same message. “We got him now!” Pede steps, the clanking of transformation, and then squealing tires sounded in retreat as Rodimus burned rubber for the conference room.

Still hidden from view in the side corridor, Optimus glanced at his own non-verbal comms and looked confused for what he saw. “They have found something,” he said quietly. He turned his helm back towards Megatron pointedly, squeezing the captive mech’s arm in gentle warning.

“Last chance,” Optimus said, his voice a quiet, almost pleading rumble. _Talk to me. I want to be on your side._

Megatron merely frowned in answer _. I can’t. I won’t._

“Come on,” Optimus ordered as he released Megatron and turned down the hall towards the conference room.

Megatron took several long in-vents as he considered his options, struggling to decide between going to the conference room to face the music or bolting for an escape pod and making a run for it (anything but the Rodpod though, he had _standards_ after all).

 _How does that old saying go…no good deed goes unpunished_? Megatron thought, already in mourning for his reputation and self-respect.

Finally he sighed and turned down towards the conference room, plodding after Optimus’ receding back plates, following behind him like a mech condemned to the smelter.

 

* * *

 

Rodimus was looking smug again.

It was always a bad sign, as far as Megatron was concerned.

“There was an unusual energy surge in the Lost Light’s engine room,” Ultra Magnus explained to Megatron as the others took their seats. “Perceptor investigated and found this.”

Megatron remained standing as his second-in-command showed him the object and he stiffened when he recognized the item. It was another data disk, identical to the one he'd received from his alternate several weeks ago.

“It is addressed to you on the outer casing,” Ultra Magnus said. He was pointing out the engraving when Rodimus snatched the disk from him and glowered at Megatron, optics filled with accusation.

“G1 universe Megatron gives you that first disk which we _didn’t_ take from you and check - against my better judgment! - and now _this one_ shows up,” Rodimus waved the new one at Megatron, “proof positive that you're having a conversation with your alternate self in the other universe.”

Rodimus leaned forward aggressively. “You want to tell us _why_ you are having a nice little trans-dimensional chat with your evil, Autobot-murdering alternate self?” Then he blinked as what he said sunk in. “ _More_ evil, I mean. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t evil-”

“I agree that this looks questionable.” Optimus said, interrupting Rodimus’ rambling. Optimus pinched the bridge of his nasal sensor and then looked over at Megatron with a confused, long-suffering expression. “Do you want to explain?”

…which was Optimus-speak for _explain this or else_ and nobody misunderstood _that_ tone.

“It is a private correspondence apparently intended for me,” Megatron said impertinently, holding out his servos expectantly for _his_ disk. “I have no idea what it contains, and as such there is nothing to explain.”

 _Perhaps attitude may prevail where authority can only fail…_ The disk was either from his alternate self or it was from Prime, and either way he did not want it to be played, but he was running out of options.

“Very well then,” Optimus said, disheartened by Megatron’s arrogant tone, so very reminiscent of the old Megatron he was accustomed to fighting. “Rodimus, play the disk.”

Megatron dived for the incriminating disk an instant later and Optimus lunged for him. Their frames met half way while Rodimus crowed triumphantly, “I knew it! I _knew_ you were up to something!” …and loaded the little device.

Optimus leapt across and over the table and Megatron groaned as he was slammed into and pinned down by the other, his weakened frame overwhelmed with all the finesse of a heavily-loaded freight train.

Unfortunately for him, the fool’s energon meant he couldn’t put up any sort of fight. He quickly found himself subdued, face down on the conference table, half-crushed beneath Optimus’ frame.

The squeeze and position strongly reminded him of one of the vile recordings, only their positions had been reversed. Then he groaned again as Rodimus tapped the screen and started the recording while Optimus forcefully mech-handled him, holding him down as he squirmed miserably.

“Get _off_ of me!”

“I don't understand what has gotten into you-”

And then a very familiar voice rumbled out of the recording.

**_“This is Optimus Prime, and I intend this message for Megatron of the Lost Light-”_ **

“What?” Optimus rumbled above him, still squeezing Megatron between his heavy frame and the table. The arms wrapped around him tightened slightly in surprise, and Megatron tried not to hyperventilate for the intimate touch.

The last time this happened he had endured joors of wild, blasting emotion and pitiful full-body hugging and a frame soaked with optical fluid shed during overwhelming spasms of shame and fear.

But with the fool’s energon leaving him so weak, there was nothing he could do to break the hold. He had no choice but to lay quietly beneath the other mech while the rest of the crew started processing what he'd done.

Alternate Prime’s earnest face plates filled the vid screen.

His optics were still pale as he continued to recover from the effects of energy starvation. Likewise, his frame was still haggard-looking from his wretched captivity, but otherwise he was clearly on the mend.

Prime’s rumbling vocalizer, expressions, and mannerisms were a dead match for Optimus.

**_“-grateful for your intervention on my behalf, and apologize that I was unable to properly thank you for the rescue after you returned me-”_ **

Megatron fidgeted beneath Optimus as alternate Prime’s gentle sentiments began to spill out of the disk, the alternate Prime even retracting his face mask so that his honest gratitude could be fully expressed.

“What the frag?” Rodimus asked, staring at the recording in shock.

“This was during the demonic invasion, wasn’t it?” Ultra Magnus asked, starting to piece together what had occurred. “This recording is from Optimus Prime from the alternate universe.”

_Busted._

“I don’t believe it,” Rodimus hissed, shocked and _furious_. “You went on a dangerous, cross-dimensional rescue mission and you _didn’t invite me_?!”

“Wait,” Optimus asked, finally catching on to what all the babbling around him actually meant. “You conducted a rescue mission to another dimension, _on your own_ , entirely to rescue my alternate self? Why didn't you _tell anyone?”_

“There was a good chance that the one or two more level-helmed mechs aboard this ship,” Megatron sniffed as he still tried to cover his aft somewhat, “would have considered the risk too dangerous and would have chosen not to-”

“It _was_ too dangerous,” Thunderclash agreed. He crossed his arms. “I would have advised against it.”

“I would have helped you,” said Ultra Magnus, his tone containing the barest suggestion of hurt for being left out. “If you had asked.”

Optimus’ ex-vents were warm over the back of Megatron’s helm and neck cables, almost as warm as his vocalizer sounded when he realized the magnitude of the risk the silver mech had taken for his alternate self.

“That is the most selfless act I have ever seen from you,” and Optimus' rumble was filled with approval.

“Hardly,” Megatron snapped up at him desperately. “I did it _entirely_ to spite my alternate self,” he lied as hard as he could. “He was insufferable. Any favorable outcome for your alternate self was entirely coincidental!”

**_“-most grateful for your kindness and compassion during my stay aboard your ship, and the risk that you took to aid me-”_ **

Optimus blinked. “Kindness and compassion…?”

He was clearly smiling behind his battle mask and Megatron just groaned and began slamming his helm repeatedly against the conference table as Rodimus grinned at him, his gleaming optics promising endless vorns of teasing to come.

“An alternate dimension Optimus Prime was on board and we didn’t get to meet him?” Thunderclash's disapproving muttering barely rose over the sounds of helm thudding.

“You were in a coma,” Ultra Magnus pointed out mildly. “You wouldn’t have met him anyway.”

Megatron’s only consolation was that the nature and magnitude of the abuse inflicted upon Prime by his alternate remained unmentioned. _Small mercies_ , he thought to himself as each smack of his helm jarred his visual/audial feeds into static. The little flickers of non-input provided momentarily relief for the sheer humiliation and ignominy of it all.

“Quit that,” Optimus demanded. He grabbed Megatron's helm with a strong servo, holding the irritated ex-warlord down and quiet. “This is nothing to be ashamed over!”

“Exactly! You crossed entire _dimensions_ of reality to rescue Prime!” Rodimus interrupted enthusiastically, “which is definitely _Rodimus_ -grade heroics. In fact, this calls for a Rodimus Crest, only awarded for the most exceptional feats of-”

“Why does it look like your face?” Thunderclash sounded completely baffled.

“Oh _whatever_ ,” Rodimus snapped. “You want it to look like _your_ face, is that it? You _would_ you self-righteous-”

Optimus frowned. “Rodimus-”

“Someone please,” Megatron groaned, vocalizer muffled from Optimus’ heavy servo still wrapped around his face plates, “Just take me off-line now.”

After the initial panic of physical contact passed, the press of Optimus against him felt warm. He could feel the heavy metal of the other flush across his back plates, the strong engine rumbling as thick servos squeezed him in clear approval.

Megatron found himself relaxing a notch below sheer panic when no unwanted emotions buffeted him, though he was far too distracted to notice how bright the lighting above him was getting. His spark felt off, strange. He was struggling not to pant for the exertion, feeling overstimulated for all the panic he'd just endured.

**_“-deeply regret my actions toward you during my stay as your guest, and I hope that you can understand and forgive my harsh-”_ **

“So he did attack you,” Thunderclash said, frowning. “You _did_ provide falsified testimony.”

Megatron winced and rebutted the accusation, talking around Optimus’ fingers that were still controlling his helm. “My statement given is exactly correct, as Optimus,” he flicked his optics at the heavy hulk still holding him down, “didn’t attack me.”

“You never fell out of the energy quill hatch, did you?” Ultra Magnus looked doubly hurt at the thought of not only being excluded, but that Megatron had flat out lied to him about his injuries … not to mention the falsified report.

Megatron winced and told Magnus the truth, or as close to it as he dared. “I didn’t have time, Magnus," he mumbled. "Prime was at death’s door. The options were to respond immediately and break every rule in the book or do nothing. And then after I rescued him, I only had a short time to provide aid until he had to return. He literally slept though the entire encounter, for the most part.”

“You should have told me anyway,” Ultra Magnus repeated. “I would have helped you.”

Megatron sighed. “I will keep that in mind.” He gave the other mech an apologetic look.

“And why in Primus’ name did you let him hit you like that?” and it was clear from his tone that Ultra Magnus was both happy that Prime had been rescued but also upset to learn that the recording was in fact real.

“He thought I was my alternate attempting some sort of deception, obviously. Also, my understanding of Autobot hospitality suggests that battering injured mechs is frowned upon.”

Ultra Magnus shook his helm. “Yes, but-”

“He was injured,” Megatron repeated firmly. “He wasn’t capable of causing too much damage, so I let him have his little temper tantrum until he was willing to have an actual conversation.”

Megatron didn’t elaborate further and prayed the others didn’t go into it. He still didn't regret his actions, as the massive difference between Prime's fields from before and after was the only way he felt like he had legitimately helped Prime beyond freeing him from captivity. The earnest, spark-felt recording continued and he shrank further and further into his armor as his spark pounded miserably, pulsing hot in his chest.

“Compassion indeed,” Optimus murmured to the mech beneath him. “I am impressed.”

“Optimus,” and Ultra Magnus stared pointedly at the silver frame still pressed flat against the table. “You can let Megatron up now.”

But Optimus maintained his hold on the mech trapped beneath him. He was too delighted with the proof that Megatron really _was_ trying to transform himself into a better mech to process the request. He was smiling behind his mask and his fingers tightened on silver metal. The unguarded gesture was far more affectionate then publicly acceptable, in Magnus’ opinion.

Ultra Magnus might be a little biased, though.

Just a little...

Megatron felt conflicted, half of him relieved for the normal feel of Optimus and comforted by the familiar and trusted mech holding him, but the rest of him needed Optimus to let him up _right now_ because this was way too much physical contact. He remained unused to so much ... touching. He shot Magnus a very subtle but pleading look.

_Help!_

Ultra Magnus tried again. “Optimus-”

**_“-that I may have unintentionally infected you with a spark virus that has proven difficult to isolate, causing steadily worsening-”_ **

A sharp silence descended across the noisy group as that bit of information processed.

“Wait, what?” Rodimus yelped, leaping back as if Megatron had just exploded into a cloud of cosmic rust.

“That would explain some of my symptoms,” Megatron muttered to himself. His spark was all but strobing within him now, worse then he'd ever felt before... all this stress was not helping. _Perhaps I should have listened to Ratchet..._

Optimus looked down at him sympathetically, still holding on to him, though the grip was no longer controlling. The mech beneath him didn't seem quite right. His optics were unfocused and he seemed confused. Megatron had seemed a little off before, come to think of it, but Optimus had disregarded it as jitters from the upcoming meeting ... clearly a mistake.

“He must have infected you while he was damaging you,” Thunderclash said, tapping the spot over his spark for emphasis. His optics were a bit unfocused as he thought the situation through. “But a spark virus has a very specific mode of transfer. They are usually difficult to transmit between mechs.”

“He had an odd electromagnetic field,” Megatron admitted woozily. “It was probably the vector for infection.”

“Megatron?” Optimus looked down at him, concerned. “Are you alright? Do you need help to the Medbay?” He refused to react as Rodimus had, and merely tightened his grip, clearly intending to be supportive to his old enemy.

Megatron just squirmed. He seemed to have trouble answering. His optics focused on the lights above and then he frowned pensively as the room began to fade from view.

Ultra Magnus could tell Megatron was stressed. He tromped his way over the other side of the table and laid a hand on Optimus’ shoulder. “Let him up, Optimus,” he murmured.

Optimus blinked and loosened his hold on the other mech. “Yes, right, of course.”

Optimus finally released the frame beneath him, but Megatron made no move to sit up. Megatron's entire frame relaxed instead and he sighed and began to slide off the table. Magnus grabbed at him and kept him from hitting the floor as Optimus also reached out and grasped his other arm to support him.

**“- _if left untreated could result in terminal shutdown. I have included medical instructions from Ratchet to aid in-”_**

“Megatron?” Magnus asked, shaking him a little.

But the white had already taken him away.

 

* * *

 

“I will take him, Optimus,” and Ultra Magnus slid an arm around Megatron. Magnus lifted the confused Megatron, throwing his arm over Megatron's sagging shoulder and hoisting him up to walk him to the Medbay.

But Optimus did not relinquish his own grip, instead pulling Megatron towards him. “Don't concern yourself, I already have him.”

“It's fine, Optimus. I'll take him to the Medbay.” Ultra Magnus tried to wave Optimus away and started walking the beleaguered Megatron to the door.

“Magnus,” Optimus insisted. “I have him.”

Rodimus stared at the two mechs suspiciously, and then shared a look with Thunderclash, who just shrugged.

Ultra Magnus opened his intakes, and then abruptly set them when Megatron lulled his helm back, optics unfocused, and dropped his head on Magnus’ shoulder.

“I _have him_ , Optimus.”

Optimus frowned behind his battle mask, and then set his denta.

 

* * *

 

The euphoria was powerful.

Megatron felt completely relaxed, and at first he floated in sheerest serenity. But it wasn't long before reality began to intrude. It was the scuffed floor that first came into focus, with his own dragging black pedes catching his attention ... and then two other sets of heavy pedes on either side of him, both blue, finally registered.

_Wha...?_

It took him another moment before he recognized the Magnus armor to his right and Optimus to his left. He blinked reluctantly as painful reality slowly replaced the wonderful euphoria he had been lost in. _Where am I?_

“Easy now,” Optimus murmured to him.

"Taking you to the Medbay," Ultra Magnus answered his questioning look, though Magnus had to repeat himself several times before Megatron understood what he was saying.

The rest of his vision returned for a moment, and then Megatron realized they each had one of his arms over their shoulders. He was instantly embarrassed to be carried through the ship. Old habits continued to die hard and any semblance of weakness remained unacceptable to him. He tried to pull back, but both of them merely tightened their grip on him, unrelenting in their support.

Then he winced as he stumbled over his own pedes, trying to steady himself and failing. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't form. It was all for nothing, and he finally just gave up and slumped between the only two mechs he really trusted anymore in the strange place his functioning had become.

"All this fuss because you were too embarrassed to admit you did something selfless?" Optimus tried to ask, still confused as some of this situation still didn't add up to a full picture.

"Well," Ultra Magnus said dryly, " _technically_ he broke half a dozen rules and put himself, the Lost Light, and two dimensions at risk just to-"

"Rescue a fellow Autobot in dire straits." Optimus finished for him. "I will deal with the technical details for this. Send me all of the forms ... I won't see him punished for attempting to do the right thing."

Megatron missed most of the conversation, having difficulty focusing.

“I’m fine,” Megatron rumbled finally as reality grew clear enough that he could speak properly. “Let me up.” Both mechs tried to let him stand on his feet, but to his immense embarrassment he immediately pitched forward when their support was withdrawn and he nearly hit the floor.

Both mechs lunged for him, but Optimus was faster. He slid both arms underneath his old adversary and lifted him up while Ultra Magnus scowled next to him.

Megatron opened his intakes to protest being carried, but the light around him began to brighten again, and the white returned almost immediately. “Perhaps there may be something wrong with me after all,” he murmured as the beautiful light swept all other sights from his vision.

The last thing he felt was Optimus’ arms tighten around him, the deep voice rumbling something comforting into his audial even as the familiar euphoria swept all his worries away.

 

* * *

 

When Megatron awoke from treatment, he found himself lying on a berth and attached to an unspeakable amount of medical devices. He peered around blearily and wriggled around to try and get more comfortable. Moments later a large blue and red shape next to him moved, and he realized he had a visitor sitting next to him in a chair.

Optimus was sitting near him. From the empty cubes of energon crushed nearby, it appeared he'd been there for some time, joors at least.

"Awake at last," Optimus smiled, and Megatron relaxed and tried to speak, but there was a fueling tube lodged down his intakes. He touched it for a moment in surprise and then withdrew his servos. He looked around at Optimus questioningly. _How long?_

"You were out for two cycles," Optimus told him, and he blinked in surprise at that, and rubbed at his chest plates. His spark felt massively better, almost normal. He took a deep in-vent and let it back out around the tubes with a whistling sigh.

“I am glad you are feeling better,” Optimus said. His expression was gentle and his optics were smiling. He was very pleased to see how much more comfortable Megatron appeared to be, and carefully reached out a hand and placed it on his chest plates, over his sigil.

"You have done this symbol proud," Optimus said quietly.

Megatron's optics softened a fraction. For the first time since Optimus arrived, he looked the mech straight in the optics, his own wide with embarrassment.

Optimus said nothing more, but instead offered Megatron his servo, and left it extended as Megatron eyed it uncertainly. But finally he took the pro-offered hand as Optimus met his gaze with startlingly bright optics. “Thank you.”

Optimus squeezed his servo with an appropriate and respectful amount of pressure and released it. Then he stood and, with a respectful dip of his helm, turned and walked away, back towards his ship and the political maelstrom that was post-war Cybertron with Starscream at the helm.

Megatron watched him leave, and something that had been wound tight within him ... eased.

Ultra Magnus arrived a few breems later with the excuse for his presence being he had a few forms Megatron needed to sign.

 

* * *

 

Several cycles after Megatron was released from the Medbay and returned to his duties as co-captain, the Lost Light returned to normalcy.

Megatron was on his way to the Medbay to pick up his daily ration of ~~turbo rat poison~~ fuel when the alarms on the Lost Light sounded. Mechs bolted every which way, each heading towards their assigned stations.

Megatron made it to the bridge in record time, choking down his vile fuel in the lift and crushing the cube.

“Report,” he ordered as soon as he reached the bridge. Ultra Magnus nodded at him in greeting and stepped towards his captain with his best _you aren’t going to believe this_ expression.

“You aren’t going to believe this.”

“ _Try me_ ,” Megatron answered. His optics were set in determination, a bulwark against the madness, and he was ready.

 _Nothing_ could surprise him anymore.

“Apparently an intruder from a world called Third Earth-” and Ultra Magnus just shrugged at Megatron’s lifted brow ridge, “-has taken over the lower decks of the ship. It resembles some sort of undead hominid wrapped in rags and it materialized in the oil reservoir-”

“How did-”

“-no idea. It just appeared and started ranting about ancient spirits of evil that-”

“Want control of the Lost Light for nefarious purposes, of course.”

“Apparently,” Magnus agreed. “Skids reported it was howling something about locating ‘power stones’ and claiming it was taking over the ship for the purposes of universal domination-”

“Spare me,” Megatron muttered. “Where is it now?”

“We tried to subdue it, but it started generating some sort of odd energy. It's wreaking havoc on our computer systems. Perceptor says it is very similar to the equine energy signature he has been trying to replicate in his lab. He says its appearance may be linked to Brainstorm’s experiments. Which were unauthorized, by the way. He has shut down the engines.”

“Rodimus is already down there, and his official assessment of the situation was, and I quote… ‘This is going to be fun.’ …unquote.”

Megatron face palmed.

“Rodimus took Whirl, Drift, and some of the others a few breems ago, but we just lost contact with his team.”

“He couldn’t handle one little undead?” Megatron asked with a disparaging huff.

Ultra Magnus shrugged ruefully. “Apparently this thing has been teleporting sentient beast-people onto the ship in the meantime. A few of them appear friendly, specifically the feline creatures-”

“Feline creatures?” Megatron asked.

Magnus shrugged at him again. “Apparently they were trying to stop the intruder and were pulled onto the Lost Light with him. The reptilian creatures are under its control … and not so friendly.”

“Rodimus was comparing swords with their leader when-”

“-contact was lost with Rodimus’ team.” Megatron finished for him, sounding exasperated. Rodimus was famous for charging in randomly and just winging his way through dangerous situations, his confidence in himself tending to make a situation worse just as often as he somehow ends up saving the day.

Ultra Magnus’ tone indicated he shared Megatron’s irritation for that particular personality trait. “I told him to wait until we could properly assess the situation-”

“What did you find?” Megatron interrupted him, gesturing for him to get to the point. Beneath their pedes, the ship’s deck shuddered as deeper down an explosion went off. They could hear strange reptilian-like hissing echoing through the ship’s ventilation systems.

Ultra Magnus sighed and pulled out his blaster. “That thanks to all of the weapon discharge in the area any hope of sophisticated and non-lethal reaction is now impossible. We will have to deal with these invaders manually.”

Megatron subspaced his own weapon, and checked the power levels.

Fully charged and ready.

Something about interacting with the other mech was calming to him. Standing next to Ultra Magnus, preparing to charge into the maw of madness _yet again_ to save the universe from _yet another_ would-be evil galactic conqueror … the normalcy of complete insanity was deeply soothing to his still aching spark.

“All right then," Megatron said with grim determination. “Let’s do this.”

Ultra Magnus nodded with the barest hint of something that could almost-maybe-possibly be a _very_ small smile, and cocked his own blaster.

“After you.”

 

finis


End file.
